Haven't thought of you lately
by RowenaR
Summary: A Hufflepuff and a Slytherin. Once an unusual friendship... but it didn't survive ten years of separation. Is there a second chance? PostHogwarts, OCs, worth the read. Coauthored with rareb. Ch. 36 posted.
1. Chapter 1

**Author: **This time, it's a genuine co-production, because rareb is responsible for everything concerning Orion, while I take care of Lavinia. So every credit and criticsm you give us should go to both of us, please.**  
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**Summary: **A Hufflepuff and a Slytherin. Once an unusual friendship... but it didn't survive ten years of separation. Is there a second chance? Post-Hogwarts, OCs, worth the read (whoever said only the Golden Trio attented Hogwarts?). Co-authored with rareb.**  
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**Category:** Romance**  
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**Rating:** K+**  
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**Disclaimer: **Come to think of it, always a funny thing to write for me. Anyway, Orion belongs solely to rareb, while Lavinia originally belongs to our fellow German LOTR message board user Eruanne. She was so friendly as to lend me Lavinia for this story. However, the wizarding world and everything else associated with it (ie. Quidditch, familiar names etc.) belong to J.K. Rowling. We only borrowed it for our personal fun and won't make money with it. We solemnly swear.**  
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**A/N:** For me, this is my first HP-fanfiction. This one here is based on an RPG on above mentioned LOTR message board. Because it was started after HBP we caution you that there can be slight to heavy spoilers for this book. Please keep this in mind while reading. We realized that it needs quite some time until it gets going, so if you are a new reader, bring a little patience. You'll be rewarded.

I would like to point out that after quite a time of hiatus, rareb and I decided to give the story a major revamp, mostly in Orion's parts. We also decided not to close down the story but to continue it. We're working on it ;)

And now on with the story and don't forget:

Feedback will earn you a cookie, flames will roast our marsh-mellows.

* * *

**Haven't thought of you lately**

"_A long time ago  
We used to be friends  
But I haven't thought of you lately at all."_

_The Dandy Warhols, "We used to be friends"_

~*~

_Lavinia_

Actually, I still don't really know how it happened. I mean… okay, yes, actually it was pretty easy. I was there, and suddenly he was there and… No, from the beginning.

I'd always been one for Quidditch. Ever since my grandpa put me on a broom when I was four or five years old and taught me how to fly my first round over the lawn before the mansion, I was hooked. And of course I was elected to play as a Chaser for my House team – Hufflepuff – at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry as a second year. For a while, everyone thought I'd only been chosen because of my grandfather – Horace O'Leary, one of the greatest Quidditch players of his time – but in time I earned the position and the respect of my team mates.

Then, in my seventh year, everything went to hell when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named came back and Dumbledore died. But life goes on, and even when the world crumbled, I was taken into the reserve team of the Montrose Magpies and stayed there ever since, even making my way into the national team a few years later. Granted, there were always games cancelled or disturbed by shockingly horrific atrocities, but overall there was one motto ruling the whole League: "The show must go on" So I was playing and training and playing and training some more. All the while others were fighting; while my husband was fighting.

But that's not what I wanted to tell you about, right? What I wanted to tell you about… happened a lot later. 10 years, to be precise. Only some hours ago, to be even more precise. I'd just finished changing after our glorious triumph against Brazil's national team when Alfred Hanniman – my manager – came towards me and ushered me into the room where the press conference after the game was supposed to take place. I tried to fend him off, because I absolutely hate press conferences and all that PR hocus-pocus – so to speak, but sometimes even I can't get around it. So I finally indulged him and took a seat beside my coach and tried not to recoil before the sheer mass of journalists and would-be-journalists in front of me.

For a while, everything went the usual way, with people standing up, asking semi-intelligent questions, irritating me with taking pictures and all that other stuff journalists do. But then, suddenly, someone cleared his throat and a very familiar voice said: "I'd like to ask… Mrs… uh… McNeil a question. Today is the 5th anniversary of your husband's death. How do you feel about this on such a great day?"

For a moment I was at a loss for words. How dared _he_ of all people ask something like that? Orion Yaxley, Slytherin, strangely enough one of my best friends – even if it _was_ a very weird friendship – who never took the time to stay in contact with me after we finished our school at the brink of war. And who never even took the risk of openly standing up for our friendship, even after we left Hogwarts. I never was a very impulsive person, but right then and there I was fuming. I was lucky my coach was fast enough to register that, put a hand on my arm as unobtrusively as possible and said: "Could you please reserve this question for later, Mr…"

"Yaxley.", I hissed.

"Yes, Mr Yaxley. You will have time enough for that in the interview she will be giving you in ten minutes."

And that's why I'm now sitting in a room much too tiny for the amount of anger building up in my chest, opposite to an obviously very oblivious Orion Yaxley. Or maybe he's just pretending not to know me. Knowing him, I'd tend to the latter. And I want _out_ of here.

_Orion_

This just isn't how I had imagined it. But nobody wanted to join Roland on the Quidditch-Game. So I went. It was never part of the arrangement for me to do the interview. What the heck does he have to get hit by a Bludger for? And now I've just…

I have been writing for the Daily Prophet for 10 years now. Even though my ambition had always been to join the ministry, the offer of the Prophet had something promising at that time. At Hogwarts, I had been one of the editors-in-chief of the School's newspaper and believe it or not, it had been read by some very influential people and they had liked my style. So there I was – in the middle of a war, always hunting for stories, commenting, but never taking action. I made it, sort of. I'm one of the most respected political journalists in the country – even associate editor-in-chief of the biggest wizarding newspaper in Britain. It was hard work getting there. But I'm not a sports reporter for heaven's sake.

My family was once one of the most influential pure-blood families in Britain. The Yaxleys were proud of their ancestry and I was to bring this important heritage to new blossom. It was what I had worked for all my years at school; to equal, even outdo my father – to add my share to the considerable family wealth. I would have done it – if it hadn't been for the war. Suddenly, surviving was all that mattered. My parents didn't. Friends of mine turned up on both sides. As a Slytherin you had to cope with that. One of my best friends became a Death Eater – the other best friend stayed loyal and we got married. What people do. It seemed to be the right thing at that time.

Anyway, I had volunteered to accompany our sports reporter to the Quidditch game because nobody else wanted to do it. The deal was that I would be there watching the game, occasionally taking notes should he not be able to do it on his own. It was a job normally done by interns – but we didn't have any at the moment. To be honest I'd partly done it to get the votes of the sports department in the next election round for the editor-in-chief. It had seemed like a reasonable bargain – but then, the idiot got hit by a bludger.

The British Beater had aimed for an adversarial Chaser, missed and hit none other than the journalist for the Daily Prophet, Roland Hardy. True reporter as he is, he had passed me his notes and gave instructions to me under his breath while they brought him away.

Now there I was at this press conference – trying to figure out what the hell it was all about while ruffling through the notes of my precious colleague. This was when I found the question, halfway through the conference. Apparently, one of the players had lost her husband exactly 5 years ago – a war victim, a hero of some kind, it seemed. As a reporter, you have an instinct – it was an interesting, provoking question. So I rose to my feet, cleared my throat and asked without further reflection:

"I'd like to ask… Mrs… uh… McNeil a question. Today is the 5th anniversary of your husband's death. How do you feel about this on such a great day?"

Her reaction was rather odd. You could expect someone not to answer such a personal question – but it seemed like she had actually been disturbed by it. Was it out-of-bounds? Was it something I said? _I'm just a reporter; it's nothing personal, honey_.

However, it's true that I was quite disturbed when her coach announced that I would get to ask her that in a personal interview. Who was talking about an interview? I just wanted to leave here – it wasn't even technically my job. Now, isn't that ironic? Every journalist in this room would probably have paid much to get this interview; everyone except me. Let me do an article on the latest ministerial decisions and you have it on your desk in two hours time. But what should I ask some stupid Quidditch-girl?

Instead of paying attention to the rest of the conference I started figuring out questions I could ask a Quidditch-player I didn't know at all. And that's what I'm still doing, while I wait outside the room. It's going to be embarrassing and I just hope she doesn't take it personal.

The door opens and a smiling manager lets me in. "She's all yours for questions now, Mr. Yaxley", he tells me. _Whatever_, I think and take a seat opposite hers. _She looks vaguely familiar. _The thought lingers for a moment, but I push it away. As a reporter, you meet a lot of people – it could even be that I covered the story of her husband years ago. You can't remember all of them, can you?

I take out my notes and want to start the questioning. This is going to be embarrassing enough without the awkward silence. But when I open my mouth to formulate the first question I notice her glare. This can't possibly be just about the question. It seems like this woman is mad at me for some reason I have yet to discover. _Let's see, then._ I offer her my hand: "Orion Yaxley, I'm here representing the Daily Prophet. Do you mind me starting with the questions?" Rather than taking my hand and answering the question, she now stares at me like she's going to explode the next second. What's wrong?


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

_"I don't know your thoughts these days  
We're strangers in an empty space  
I don't understand your heart  
It's easier to be apart"_

_Keane, "We might as well be strangers"_

_Lavinia_

"Orion Yaxley, I'm here representing the Daily Prophet. Do you mind me starting with the questions?" He holds out his hand, but all I can do is stare at him, feeling like I'm going to explode any minute. He's got to be joking. At first he dares to ask me in front of Merlin knows how many other reporters about… my husband's death and now he pretends not to know who I am?

I don't even wait for him to sit down again to start my tirade. Really, I've had it now. So I take a deep breath and then say: "Merlin, stop the pretence, Yaxley! And what where you thinking when you of all people asked me about… about… Tony" – even after five years I'm still choking slightly at mentioning his name, but what happened then was just… _is_ still unbearable – "in front of all those… press vultures? Ah, bloody hell, why am I asking anyway? You _are_ one of those vultures. And it's just like back in School, isn't it? When all that counted for you were your ambition and your career and your appearance."

I want to go on with my ranting, but I suddenly realise something rare in Orion Yaxley's face: Utter confusion. I blink. What the…? "Do we actually know each other, Mrs… McNeil? Because I seriously have no idea how you could get these ideas about me, and why you would start making these… assumptions about my character.", he says, obviously using my moment of perplexity to cover up his own befuddlement. I blink again. Either he has grown into an even better actor than he was at School or… no, I'm just too full of anger to think about the _other_ possibility.

"Do we _know_ each other? Do we… Yaxley, if this is one of your stupid Slytherin jokes, it's definitely _not_ funny. I mean, it's not even… Merlin, what am I doing here? This is a pointless waste of time, and I really have better things to do than let myself being fooled by you. If you'd excuse me now…", I say, already standing up and moving to brush past his chair and rush out of the door.

But he's not finished, obviously, as he suddenly stands up as well and says: "I don't think so. I'm here because I promised my colleague – who is incapacitated at the moment – to get the best story possible. And what is better than an interview with England's star… uh, what position are you playing actually, Mrs McNeil?"

For a moment, all I can do is stand there and try to hold myself back from actually lashing out to him – and I'm not a violent person, being a Hufflepuff to the heart and all that. Then I catch myself and start ranting again: "Okay, Yaxley, I _knew_ you weren't interested much in Quidditch back in School, but you should have heard at least _once_ in the last ten years about me and my _position_! Merlin be damned, we were _friends_, Yaxley. Did that ever mean _anything_ to you? Did it?" He is obviously still pretending to draw a blank because the face certainly looks like it. Bloody bastard. "No… no, I suppose it didn't… you'd have had the guts to stop sneaking around and make it public at one point if it had had any meaning for you."

I'm a little surprised at myself now, because all of a sudden I don't sound angry anymore, but… resignated. Quiet. Like I certainly do_not_ want to sound in front of _anyone_ anymore. But then something only centimetres short of a wonder happens. Something that looks suspiciously like a flicker of recognition in his eyes... Huh?

* * *

_Orion_

Just when I started to doubt her mental health it suddenly dawns on me. We were friends. Never public. At Hogwarts. It can't be – she can't have become a Quidditch-star, can she? This is surreal. It's my turn to stare at her, if only for a moment before I get back into my usual bearing. Lavinia? Lavinia McBean – Hufflepuff, notorious do-gooder has become famous without me noticing?

I look at her and it all comes back to me. She's older, less shy, a lot tougher seemingly, but underneath it, she still looks the same, kind of. I try to fight off the images that rush through my head at the mere thought of her name. She had been the first dead body – well, it had turned out to be just a full-body-bind – I've seen in my life. The picture of her lying at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, stiff and motionless, had haunted me for a long time, even after I began to report on the war and death was omnipresent. That's why we had become friends and started meeting in the broom closet. I had saved her life that night. Not for her sake, naturally – it was more of an accident. But it had created a bond that had lasted two years.

I hate awkward silence. But this is what's just happening. I don't know what to say. It's been 10 years; 10 extremely eventful years. Why does she expect me to recognize her? It's not just her name that has changed. I get angry at the thought. After all, why should this be my fault?

"You haven't exactly cared about keeping in touch, either – Lavinia", I tell her, a bit more aggressive than I wanted it to sound. "And as for the rest of your accusations: No, I didn't recognize you – obviously. I have a lot of work to do and use my spare time productively. I don't care for Quidditch and it's a regrettable mistake that I'm even here today. I meet a lot of people on my job – don't expect me to remember each and every one of them. Even if it touches your ego – I haven't heard of you as a Quidditch-player and I don't care about the position you play, except to help out my car-" I realize what I'm about to say just in time to correct myself: "my colleague. So, do you want to do this bloody interview or what?"

She stares at me like she wanted to strangle me any moment. It's actually quite scary. What did I do? "Should I feel honoured that you even remember my name, you idiot? If there is an ego too big for itself in this room, it's yours! I'm not someone you met at your job. We were _friends_! At least, I thought we were – but it's obvious I was wrong." She's furious but she can't hide the bitterness underneath her words. I catch her trying to storm out of the room and draw my wand to magically lock the door before her. She's too surprised to draw her own wand and looks back at me puzzled. I need this interview and I won't loose my face in front of my colleagues over some old friendship.

"We_were_ friends – but that was ten years ago, for heaven's sake! Ten years is a long time. You know as well as I that it wasn't possible to make it public. This doesn't mean it hadn't meant anything to me. _You_ didn't want it public then, either!" That's true – though I had to make an effort to convince her. Our lives were in danger. There was the war, after all and I was always aware of the risk; much more than she was. I suddenly remember who her husband had been – and who his murderer. It's likely that I would be as dead as he is if I had publicly admitted to be friends with her. So what does she want from me?

* * *

**A/N: **At first: thanks from both of us to Queen Nagini. We hope you stay with this story :) Secondly: All others, please drop us a review if you like the story. And if not, do it all the more, because constructive criticism is much more likely to improve a story than saying nothing. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

"_I never meant to cause you trouble  
And I never meant to do you wrong,  
And I, well if I ever caused you trouble  
O no, I never meant to do you harm"_

_Coldplay, "Trouble"_

* * *

_Orion:_

I don't know how long I've been staring at the piece of paper in my hand now.

It hadn't taken me long to write the actual interview after she had finally agreed to at least answer my questions. It certainly isn't the best piece of work I'd ever done but considering the circumstances… So, I'm sitting here in my office, thinking. I could just go home. But I don't think I could face my wife just now. How does one react if someone suddenly pops up out of your past? Worse, someone who had once been important to you? It hadn't exactly been a happy reunion and I still can't figure out why she had been so furious

It's true that after the war has ended, it wouldn't have been that difficult to find her; if I'd wanted to – or rather, if I'd had the courage to do so? We had been close after all. I don't know if there's another person I had told as much about myself as I had told her. Why had we given it up? Or was it just me, like she had reproached me? I mean, she had never actually looked for me, either. It's as much her fault as it's mine. Granted, it had been me who hadn't recognized her earlier today, but that's no reason to get so worked up.

Finally, I stop staring at the address she had given me. Normally, for someone that famous you get the address of a manager or a press agent for the counter-checking – but she had scribbled her private address on a scrap of paper before I left. All I should do is sending her the interview to read it before it's printed. It's quite easy; I've done it a million times. But I hesitate.

Suddenly, I reach a decision and take a blank scroll of parchment to write a letter to my wife:

_Dear Bryony,_

_Roland got hit by a bludger. I have to fill in.  
Don't expect me before midnight.  
Hugs and kisses_

_Orion_

For a moment I wonder how many times in the last ten years I had kissed her like that, written on a piece of parchment rather than in reality. I feel guilty about lying to her - but I need time to think this over. I send the letter before I can draw back. So I have at least four hours until she'll start worrying. And even then, she's used to my working overtime. It would be enough…

I still don't exactly know why I'm doing this. The first thing I do after sending the letter to my wife is writing another:

_Dear Lavinia,_

_I kindly ask you to counter-check the interview as attached and to return it as soon as possible to the print as indicated at the end of this letter.  
Furthermore, I'd like to apologise for the strangeness of this situation today afternoon. It's not normally my way to do interviews so unprofessionally. As I told you, it was never meant to happen.  
Also, I apologise for not recognising you at all. I'd like to make up for this.  
I invite you to dinner tonight, if you accept - you choose the location._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Orion Yaxley_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

_I invite you to dinner tonight._ Frowning, I read the letter again. It had arrived here by owl half an hour ago, only minutes after I got home, with the interview attached. Ever since then I've been reading and rereading it, trying to make up my mind. I know that theoretically I best should read the interview, make an annotation or two and then send the owl back without another word. But I just can't, and for the life of me I can't explain _why_.

I'm still a little shaken up over everything, I guess. And who wouldn't be after seeing again someone they thought they'd long forgotten ever since Graduation? All those memories which suddenly had come back. Being rescued from a full body bind in the middle of the night. Nightmares and conversations in broom closets that followed. All the time keeping everything a secret because my attacker wanted to kill the person who rescued me. And all the time being haunted by feelings of guilt for not being able to tell Tony everything, for keeping things from him and not being completely honest. Only everything that came back with just the sight of one Orion Yaxley.

And of course the memories of Tony. Kind, friendly, courageous Tony who so badly wanted to fight for the good side – and in the end died at the hand of the very man who'd been responsible for placing the body bind on me in the first place: Charles Avery. It happened in the last days of the Wizard War, and bitter feelings still well up inside of me when I think of it.

I lean back in my armchair and close my eyes against the upcoming tears. Didn't Yaxley get what the problem was? Because, the whole time he was conducting the interview he really seemed to be oblivious of how much the question about Tony's death made me reel. And that's exactly the reason why I should just look through the interview and not mention the invitation at all.

But – and that's the worst thing of all the bad things that accumulated since the press conference – I missed Yaxley. Somewhere during the interview I realised I'd actually missed the conversations with him, the closeness we shared – if not bodily, then at least in mind – and the genuine friendship. Maybe it hadn't ended really well, but as long as it lasted… plus I haven't had any good dinner invitations since… forever, and conversations with Yaxley usually proved to be very… challenging. And even amusing at times.

Owl sounds snatch me out of my reverie. April and the owl Yaxley sent are looking like they enjoy each others' company _immensely_, and April just sent me a look that seems to say _Come on, you know you don't want to pass another night alone in your empty flat. Plus this chap here really wants to go back to his master._ I sigh, and take up my quill and a piece of parchment. On it, I scribble:

_Dear Orion,_

_I understand that it has been a kind of shock to you to see me again after so many years, as it has been for me as well. However, I would love to accept your invitation. Please meet me at Oxford Circus at 8 o'clock this evening._

_Yours sincerely_

_Lavinia McNeil_

After rolling it up, I walk over to the window where the owls are sitting – a little too fast to look casual, actually – and tie the letter to Yaxley's owl's leg. A little afraid I could have second thoughts, I manage to tell the owl to fly away again. Then I take another deep breath and look at April, saying: "Well, old girl… let's just hope that this wasn't just one big mistake."

* * *

**A/N: **Look, sir, it's a new chapter! Hope you liked it :) And please, give two starving authors feeeeedback ;) Because, this is like... a real bargain. You place _one _review and make _two _people happy. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

"_She seemed so glad to see me  
I just smiled  
And we talked about some old times  
And we drank ourselves some beers  
Still crazy after all these years."_

_Paul Simon, "Still crazy after all these years" _

* * *

_Orion:_

Why does she want to meet me in the middle of a street full of Muggles? I can't say that I'm happy with her choice, but I guess I can't change it. Either I turn her down or I get through with it. I'm not used to Muggles, even now – my family lived well outside the next village and as purebloods we never associated with them. I still own but a few Muggle cloths – cloths that happen to hang in my wardrobe at home. So, I'm walking down Regent Street, trying to hide from view as best as I can. Luckily, I had chosen a black set of robes for work today anyway.

I can see her standing there, waiting for me. She hasn't discovered me yet and I hesitate. I feel even more out of place. Should I just turn back? I can't, I went too far already. She's wearing Muggle things; she fits in perfectly with her knee-length skirt, ornate top and black jacket. As far as I can tell, she could be a Muggle waiting for a date, because she's walking up and down in front of the bus stop. I have to muster all my courage to show myself and go towards her.

When she's spotting me, I can see that for a brief moment she's fighting not to laugh. Did she do it on purpose or had she just forgotten my background? At Hogwarts I would have been sure that it was the latter, but now? I couldn't have imagined her as furious as she was before the interview back then, either.

Slowly, I approach her and take her hand to place a kiss on it. _My wife used to love me for doing this,_ I think and feel a rush guilt. _What's the matter, I'm just meeting an old friend_. It'snot as if I was planning to start an affair or something. I look up again, try a smile: "Good evening, Mrs McNeill. You look good. Where are you taking us?" I offer her my arm and suddenly notice the look of bewilderment in her face.

"Excuse me, what's the matter?" I ask her, and I sincerely don't understand her reaction.

"Are you... are you really that dense or are you only pretending to be?" What? What problem does she have now? It's my turn to look rather bewildered. Isn't that kind of respect appropriate towards a lady you're inviting to dinner?

"I beg your pardon?"

"I meant... are you doing that on purpose? All this... stuff, just to mock me?" she replies and I can't help but to stare at her for a moment in utter confusion. Mock her? Who exactly does she think she's with?

"I'm sorry, Lavinia. You don't seem to have met many decent men then." I shake my head. As glad as I am about the outcome of the war – it certainly didn't help spreading good manners. I try another smile, which must look more like a frown and add: "Do you mind if we go to the restaurant?"

"Errr... no. No, we... should go now."

She refuses to take my arm and I don't insist. Now, she's walking a bit in front of me and we've both stopped talking. Why did I invite her? It doesn't seem to go anywhere, I feel awkward and I blame her for it - kind of. I'm really making an effort. Still, when she points at a building with the sign of an Indian restaurant, I go to the front to open the door for her. She must know at least about basic manners.

It's an ordinary but quite agreeable restaurant – apart from the fact that it's a Muggle establishment. I help her out of her jacket and offer her a seat, like good manners demand and sit down myself. I look at her and I feel like I'm sitting in front of a total stranger. "So… what have you done in those ten years apart from playing Quidditch?" I ask her, because someone had to start the conversation.

* * *

_Lavinia:_

For a moment I'm tempted to lash out again, but then my usual peaceful nature gets the better of me. Besides, he already got a good dose of my "snappy self", and I'm growing tired of fighting by the minute. Suppressing a sigh, I say: "I… um… well, I got married. But you already know that." Actually, it's even a little funny to see him blush very slightly and starting to fiddle with the hem of his robe's arms. _At least you're capable of a little decency, Yaxley._, I think, still a little disgruntled. While waiting for his answer, I take up my menu.

In between looking for something to eat for himself, he answers: "You know that it was my job to ask you those questions, don't you?" his tone sounding apologetic, but still with a hint of defiance in it. You just can't be _only_ a nice guy just for once, right, Yaxley? But I wanted to stop fighting, alright.

"You still could have taken a second look at the one you were questioning before asking something like that, you know. But, anyway… how have_you_ been?" That's the spirit, McNeill. You're being a good little Hufflepuff again.

"You know perfectly well how long it took me to recognise you. And anyway, it's my job to ask people questions - and to ask those questions the reader is interested in. You should know it, being famous and all. However… I _am_ sorry. It was nothing personal, really.", he answers, and gives me a nonchalant smile. And for the first time in _years_ I feel something suspiciously close to… a small fluttering of my heart? Goodness gracious. I must be imagining that, having been a widow for so long now and all that.

I suppress the urge to clear my throat and instead say: "Fine. I'll believe you. For now. And you still have to answer my question." I try to give him something like a smirk.

Before he can answer though, the Indian waiter comes to our table and wants to take our orders. I already opened my mouth to say something, but Yaxley beats me to it, saying: "I'll have the tandoori salmon and a '07 Sauvignon Blanc, and for the lady…", he looks at me expectantly, and I realise that he wants me to tell him my choice.

Again taken aback by his old-fashioned manners, I blink and say: "Uh… the shahi korma and… uh… a small bottle of Evian."

He turns back to the waiter, saying: "The shahi khorma and a small bottle of Evian for the lady." Complying, the waiter makes a short bow and walks away again.

It takes me a moment or two to recover from this unexpected attack of well mannered – I will not say "and patronising", I will not say "and patronising", I will not say "and patronising" – behaviour, but after that I clear my throat and turn back to him, raising my eyebrows questioningly, as if to say "Well?"

He leans back and runs his hand through his hair. Finally he says: "Well, nothing special really. I got married as well... and you know where I work. That's it, more or less." I narrow my eyes a little. That answer sounded completely normal, if maybe a little vacuous, but that's usual for Yaxley, as I remember now. But something… something about that answer seemed… off.

I know I shouldn't pry, but I just can't hold back saying: "More or less? Who'd you get married to? Really Maycroft like rumour had it?"

"You heard rumours about that? - It's right of course, I married Bryony Maycroft. She's been a very supportive wife ever since." Supportive, huh? You may be the master of words here, Yaxley, but I know my share as well. And "supportive" definitely doesn't have to mean "loving". But I think saying that would just be inappropriate now.

"Yeah, rumours. Even when there's a war raging, the rumour mill just keeps on going, even with rumours of the non-lethal variety. You marrying Maycr… Bryony was just one of them.", is what I say instead. Quaffel's back in his court, I'd say, but before he can answer, the waiter brings our drinks.

Sipping a little on his wine with an expert's critical look on his face, he finally says: "Well, people talk, I guess. But what about you? You told me in the interview that you don't expect to marry again soon, is this true?"

Ever the journalist, aren't we? Because, really, that sounded exactly like a press vulture again. _Peace and harmony, McNeill, peace and harmony._, I tell myself again and again and answer: "Yes. And I already told you that. And I already told you _why_ I don't expect to marry again soon. Or ever again." Mh. That didn't really sound like "Peace and harmony". No, not at all. Must not be glib again.

Yaxley, on the other side of the table just raises an eyebrow, and then, after a short pause says: "You know, all the time since that conference… I've been wondering… how did you recognise me so fast?" Oh. That was… nice. I mean, not commenting anything or prying or something… just raising an eyebrow and then changing the topic. I give him a smile. Maybe the first real one ever since we parted ways after graduation.

"Oh well, I've always been good at remembering faces. And a face like yours… Besides, you didn't change that much. Oh, and I always paid more attention than you." I smirk, but this time it's a good-natured smirk. Seems like I finally start feeling comfortable. Plus the food arrives. Great. I've been _starving_, as I only notice now. Must not attack lamb with voracious hunger. Must not attack… oh bugger.

While I practically devour my food – and must be looking ridiculous to him – he delicately starts dissecting his salmon filet. In between he manages to give me his trademark Orion-Yaxley-smirk and says: "You mean to say that I'm still the bad guy forgetting everything and you're the good girl remembering everything?"

If my mouth wouldn't be full with food, I'd have made a face and stuck out my tongue, but as it is I just swallow and say: "Exactly. You're a Slytherin. It's in your nature to be a… bad boy." Oops. That really wasn't meant to sound so… innuendo.

He blushes again, ever so slightly, and I have to hide an amused grin behind a fork full of lamb. Then he obviously got a grip on himself again and says: "So I guess this makes you rather foolish to accept my invitation. I could have poisoned you for all you know.", and even manages to give me a rather devilish lop-sided grin.

Oh, well, let's see if you learned something over the years, McNeill. "In a restaurant that _I_ chose? Not bloody likely. You aren't stupid, but you are no criminal mastermind either, Mr Yaxley." When he hears the swearing, he makes a face for just a moment, but obviously decided to let it slip.

Instead of commenting on the swearing he says: "Oh, I might be…If I didn't have other priorities.", and then he winks at me. Oh. Now_I_ must be the one who's blushing. But strangely enough it feels good. Never thought dinner with Yaxl… Orion could be so nice, after all.

* * *

**A/N: **And yet another chapter. We thank everyone who takes the time to read this story, and hope that maybe a few of you someday feel themselves compelled to write a review. No pressure, you know, just... err... hoping. Plus there's cookies! We promise! 


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

"_Where are your friends  
Where are your children  
Is this your house  
Is this your home  
Does nothing ever last forever  
Does everybody sleep alone"_

_Mike and the Mechanics, "Another Cup of Coffee"_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

"Well… it was a pleasure, Mrs McNeil. As always.", Orion says and bows down for another kiss on my hand. We just apparated in front of my house after the dinner. I'd denied his request to accompany me home at first, but what Orion wants Orion gets. If you let him, that is. And to be honest: After so many years in the rather… tough Quidditch world, a little politeness now and then _should_ be appreciated. Which is why this time I only giggle and actually grant him this hand kiss. Because, in the end it _was_ a pleasure dining with him.

When he's done, I clear my throat and say: "Thank you, Mr Yaxley. You know, I'd ask you to join me on a cup of coffee upstairs, but seeing that you are married and have a wife waiting at home for you… I'll better refrain from it."

For a moment, he averts his eyes and then says: "Yes, you're… right. And now… if you please excuse me, but I really need to head home." Then he makes a small bow, concentrates and vanishes with a slight _pop_.

Now it's me and the night again. Smirking, I take short look around and then tip my wand at the lock of the front door, murmuring "_Alohomora_." and enter. After doing the same to my flat's door, I enter and immediately take off my shoes. _Really shouldn't have taken the new ones._, is all I can think as I gingerly tread into the dark living room. April's seat is empty, so I take it she's out hunting. With a sigh, I let myself fall into the arm chair in front of the fireplace and close my eyes.

Silence engulfs me as I start recapitulating the evening. And I realise that indeed it's been ages since I felt so at ease, even after the slightly rocky start. Yeah, sure, I have my team mates, but somehow… somehow I don't even really know most of them. A lot of them haven't even been around during the war or were replacements for those who either chose to fight – on both sides – or who were victims of Death Eater attacks, and some of them even where only teenagers and grew up sheltered by their parents. Or experienced so horrible things that they like to keep to themselves. Either way, most of them either aren't interested in me – and I mean really_me_ – or have experienced too much trauma themselves. So in the end we are a merry bunch of Quidditch players, but that's all.

And of course I still have friends left – friends from Hogwarts or my first years of playing… but after the war… it's just not the same anymore. Some of them make me feel like deep down they resent me for staying out of the line of fire, some of them have experienced things so horrible that they closed off a part of themselves even to their closest friends… and some of them now have happy families and always make me feel like they were only still dealing with me out of some pity for the poor childless widow.

Yes, maybe Orion and I had been avoiding several issues during dinner, careful not to overstep boundaries set up during the whole talk, but on the other hand… from a certain point on we both silently agreed on bantering and teasing, and I _liked_ that. Somehow I feel like I haven't been doing any real mindless fooling around for a long time.

I open my eyes again. And my gaze promptly falls on a picture frame on the mantelpiece of the fireplace. One with a black ribbon over the left upper corner. I stand up and walk over to the fireplace and take up the picture. It's one of Tony. It was taken between graduation and our wedding, when the war still wasn't full on. Dumbledore had been dead for a few weeks, and the Ministry had started to hunt the Death Eaters down, trying to find Snape. I'd been asked to join the Magpies, and Tony had finally taken up the nerve to propose, and even despite all the horrible news and the overall uncertainty we had been… well… _happy_.

Orion had already vanished from my radar, rushing off to most probably taking up the Prophet's offer, and I'd finally managed to convince myself that he was just another Slytherin idiot who'd only pretended to be a friend and played me for a fool. I just didn't want to dwell on him anymore, and Tony's proposal was just the right thing to finally convince myself that I was better off without that thick-headed and conceited bag of Slytherin badness. And now… now _Orion_ of all people was the one to join me on the fifth anniversary of your death, Tony. Not even Artemis called to ask me how I was. And why should she? She's got a house full of kids she has to take care of, and a husband who seems to work 24/7 for the ministry.

_Oh, Tony_, I think, _don't be mad. I know you hated him, like you hated all Slytherins – and how could you not, you Gryffindor-at-heart? But see… he was there. And I would have gone mad without any distraction. Mad with still missing you and everyone else who died, mad with feeling of guilt – for not joining you in the fight, for taking up your proposal to get_ him _out of my mind. So… ironic that he's been the one keeping me from passing another 17__th__ of October in silent brooding, huh?_ I take another deep breath, trying to fight against the tears welling up again. I've been doing this so often now. Can't it just stop someday? Will this happen every bloody year now? Will…

With a squeak I jump back because my fireplace just ignited with the telltale signs of a Floo Network call. And 'lo and behold, who's head is appearing in there? I roll my eyes.

* * *

_Orion:_

What an evening. I can't believe I'm doing this. It has been ten years that we haven't seen each other, it had been an enjoyable dinner – and already I consult her as my last resort? But I think it's reasonable, considering that she's not innocent in what had happened.

I'm currently at the old manor house I inherited from my parents. We – can I still think in terms of "we"? – hadn't moved in because it's just too big for two persons. And now I'm here alone, because my wife had practically shown me the door. And that's why I had used the Floo powder to talk to Lavinia and I still don't actually know why I hadn't tried to reach someone else first.

When the blur stops I see her standing in front of the fireplace as if she had expected me. Or didn't she? At least, she doesn't seem too happy to see me. I clear my throat and simply say: "Back at school, we could talk about everything… and… well…" I can't possibly tell her. What did I think?

For a moment she seems too shocked to say something, then she suddenly smirks and I can't help wondering how much she has changed since Hogwarts. I have rarely seen her smirking at all. "Already yearning to see me again?" she says, continuing where we had stopped at dinner. But this just isn't appropriate anymore. I can hardly control my anger.

"Go on, this isn't funny. It's damn serious! What do you think why I came here? My wife just told me that she's had – I don't know_how_ many – affairs while I was working and now she has kicked me out; just because she thinks I had been meeting with another woman. – Do you mind if I step through? This position isn't exactly comfortable."

At first, she just stares at me and opens her mouth without saying something. That was to be expected. Then she loses it. "Of _course_ I mind you stepping through! It's Merlin knows how late, and I've got a heavy training session tomorrow!" she says harshly. I'd never expected her to be so stubborn, even though she had been like this back then occasionally. I have no intention of giving up, either. She is somewhat responsible for this and she has to hear me out. I ignore her comment and step into her living room as if she had invited me.

"You don't understand! I come home in a good mood and she asks me where I've been. I tell her I'd been working and that I had sent her a letter. – She tells me she got the letter alright; but apparently Roland stopped by to see how the interview went. And of course I had neither been home nor at work because I was with you. So she gets all suspicious with me, asks me if I'm having an affair. I tell her no, I don't, and that's perfectly true as you know. But she doesn't believe me. She says she can feel it – and anyway, it doesn't matter, because she is having affairs practically since our wedding. – She even told me that she thinks I'm incredibly stupid not to realise that." I suddenly stop, horrified that I had just told Lavinia everything and already think about just leaving.

Initially, she tries to kick me out: "Really, I don't have time for this." I won't listen and of course she lets me stay; as I knew she would – Hufflepuff to the core and all, she can't have changed that radically. She switches on the lights, offers me a seat and conjures up some tea. Then she looks at me and I suddenly realise just how tired she seems to be. "Look, perhaps it was a bad idea to come here", I say and want to get up again. Now I feel like an idiot. But she tells me to stay put, sighs and goes on: "Well, and now in English and about five times slower than before."

"It's just all wrong", is all I manage to say at first while I stare into the fireplace. I can't face to look at her anymore. It's just too embarrassing. "I've never even dreamt she could do such a thing. For _years_! She's had other men for years, Lavinia. – And I was too blind to see it? How's that supposed to look? – I never even suspected her! Probably she's right and I _am_ stupid. – So… I moved out of our apartment. If I hadn't gone to that Quidditch match, if I hadn't been forced to do that interview… none of this would have happened." That's not true, of course. My wife would still have cheated on me – she just wouldn't have told me probably. I force myself to look back at Lavinia: "What should I do now?"

She doesn't answer. We look at each other for what feels like several minutes and it's just like we were back in that broom closet at Hogwarts. It's almost unbearable as it comes all floating back: the fear, the hopes… the sense of understanding, the feeling to know exactly what she means without speaking. How had we lost it? And how did it come back so suddenly? I can't stand it any longer or I might do something stupid and destroy it.

All I do is getting up, murmuring some thanks and a goodbye and be off, before she can say anything. I'm even more confused now than I have been when my wife confessed her affairs to me. When I arrive at the manor house again I sink into an armchair in front of the fireplace. I don't think I'll be able to sleep again soon.

* * *

**A/N: **No, it's not a wonder. Just us again. With a new chapter. And a lot of thanks to Stina, who took the time to give us such a charming review. You go, Stina :D And no pleadings for other reviews this time. We promise! Really! 

Okay, who am I trying to kid:gets down on her knees: Pleeeeease, people, pleeeeeeease!


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

„_Here I am waiting.  
Just waiting.  
Anticipating a chance to run into you.  
I sit here for hours."_

_Meshell Ndegeocello, "Outside your door"_

* * *

_ Lavinia:_

What a week. At first this slightly disturbing visit from Orion after that dinner. Then a sleepless night and a totally irate Coach because I managed to be late for our departure to Papua New Guinea. But it really isn't my fault when I can't sleep because of a deranged once-upon-a-time friend who unjustifiably accuses me of ruining his marriage and then because of that am too deranged myself in the morning to be my usual cheerful and punctual self.

Anyway, after that… unfortunate start into our training camp (plus friendly against the Papua New Guineans at the end of the week) it really didn't get any better. It really felt like that week was just one bad training session. Actually maybe my worst _ever_. I missed the Quaffel more times than I could bother to count. I got hit by Bludgers like a million times. I even managed to fall off my broom on a totally clear and windless day. Which, by the way, was the moment where Coach decided to practically drag me off the pitch and give me a very thorough beating-up. Figuratively speaking, I mean.

Never seen the Coach that angry, by the way. Not even when we managed to lose against the Scots some years ago because… No, let's not think about it. That was just _ugly_. And the way the Coach exploded after I fell off the broom last week was… yes, it was actually _worse_. I really don't remember everything he threw at me, mainly because I was on the verge of fainting the whole time because of the pain from the limbs I'd broken (the right arm and the left leg… don't ask me how I managed that). But I remember that all the time he looked like he was about to explode for _real_ any moment. Luckily enough I _really_ fainted after a while.

And everything just happened because I just couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened the evening before our departure. Really, the nerve the man's got. First playing the nice guy and then suddenly appearing and accusing me of ruining his marriage. Really, I still wish I'd have the nerve to tell him square to the face that his marriage most likely had been anything but good for_ages_ when his wife had been cheating on him for Merlin knows how long.

But as it was, I just was too dumbfounded – and too much of a Hufflepuff goody-two-shoes maybe – to tell him such things. Instead I'd been nice, served tea and tried to calm him down. Just like… well, just like back in the days, only then it had always been a broom closet. Well, my flat is _definitely_ a step up. I smirk. _It's your own fault, McNeil, really. You just shouldn't have let him into your life again._, I think, and it's probably true. If I ever see that bloody bastard again, I'll give him an earful. Just you wait.

_And now stop musing, McNeil, because it's really getting cold outside. And wet._ Mostly _wet. And did I already mention the cold?_ Sighing, I pull out my wand. I really should just get out of the pouring rain and uncomfortable cold of a London autumn night and into my nice, warm flat. Mh, a hot bath and a hot chocolate… I briefly close my eyes as I round the last corner before my door.

When I open them, I almost let out a shout of surprise. There on the steps to the storey above mine sits the slightly dishevelled figure of… well… Orion Yaxley. Oh. No.

* * *

_Orion:_

How did I end up on Lavinia McNeil's doorstep? I still don't really know.

Going back to the big, empty manor that night was unbearable. I already found it too big for two people, but being there alone with my thoughts, the house-elves as the only company? I had been wandering through the many rooms for hours to calm me down, but it didn't help.

So, I had finally contacted my wife again. The coldness of her statements shocked me, actually. No, she doesn't want to take me back as long as I don't tell her about my affair. She has no intention to stop her own affairs, either, as –according to her - I wouldn't love anything but my work anyway. I had tried to argue but she was determined – telling me that the yellow press would simply love to hear about everything; so I'd better be careful. I hated her for doing this, but she was right.

I went to work on Monday as usual. I tried to pretend nothing had happened and planned to do even more work than I already did. But it all went berserk when I entered my office and found the Editor-in-Chief already sitting there. What the…

He was reading the Newspaper, the Sports pages to be precise and I knew what was coming, or I thought I knew.

"Excellent interview of yours, Yaxley.", he said, smiling. I confess I was rather confused. _Excellent? Is he talking about the same interview I just think of?_

"Yes, unusual, but very interesting – daring of you to go so personal. I still wonder why she even answered you the one about her view on the ministerial decision on the Croatia-Affair.", he continued and I knew something was wrong.

"However," he said, after a short pause, "the sports department is complaining. You haven't asked one single question about the rumours she's going to leave the Magpies, neither have you tried to find out what she thinks about the very controversial Coach of the English National team. Actually, they're furious."

I stared at him and only kept my temper in check because I was used to do so. "I'm sorry. It was never part of the deal for me to do the interview, so… they shouldn't suppose they can expect… things… of me I have no idea of whatsoever." There went my votes for the Editor-in-Chief… I found out more later, more than I wanted to. They basically considered the interview a waste of their precious printing space and I couldn't agree more – if it just wouldn't hurt my career. Someone even started the rumour that I was planning to expand coverage on political issues at the expense of sports. That's just ridiculous. But rumours obviously run faster than anything.

I hated all the talk about that interview because it reminded me of the entire evening, the enjoyable and the disastrous part of it. Of course I kept on pretending, but the truth is, when I got home to the empty manor house that evening, I felt miserable.

That's why I wrote a letter to Lavinia, explaining all that had happened and asking her for another meeting. But there had been no answer, not the next day, neither the one after. I had written other letters, I even said I was sorry and that I really needed someone to talk. No answer.

Thursday finally seemed to give some distraction. I had been sent to Ardfert in the middle-of-nowhere in Ireland to do an interview with one of the most influential people in the British wizarding community. When I arrived there, he didn't open the door even though we had an appointment. I decided to stay and wait as you rarely get the chance to ask him questions. It had proven useless and I went on to the local pub to have a drink.

It seems to be my fate lately to stumble across people I had known at Hogwarts. This godforsaken little village turned out to be the home of Linda Emerson, Ravenclaw, the one girl who had beat me at almost everything I ever ventured at Hogwarts, first Editor-in-Chief of the School's Newspaper, top of the class… we had even kissed accidentally because of two love-charms gone wrong back in our 6th year. And after School, as if it hadn't been enough, she had had the nerve to publish a book about the pretence of the pure-blood families in the middle of the war. I had written a critical comment that had been hailed at first but ferociously criticised after the war had ended.

I must have been really desperate and lonely to actually go to her to chat – and have a drink; a lot of drinks. I don't remember much of that evening. She had proposed some sort of drinking game and as the evening went on I had become so cooked that… I had woken up in her bed the next morning. Honestly, I still don't remember what had happened that night and if we had… done it or not. She told me that of course we hadn't – that she had just taken me home because she had pitied me and that she had slept on the couch. I have to take her word for that.

Just to make matters worse, Witch Weekly has published an article today about what they think had happened that evening and night in Ardfert._"Not so pure Romance"_ the title said, alluding to the title of her first non-fiction book "Not so Pure". It had surprised me that the author of this article had actually managed to be there that night without being noticed in a pub full of locals – but I knew exactly who was behind all this.

And on top of everything, I still had no answer from Lavinia. So I had decided I needed to talk to her in person and went to her apartment. I've been sitting there for almost a day when she finally arrives home.

"Good evening, Lavinia", I say, defensively, because I obviously surprised her, "I… well, I just came by… because…" I sigh. "Because I wanted to make sure everything's alright after you haven't answered my letters for a week."

* * *

**A/N: **Um, yes. We've been kind of taking our time. But maybe this chapter makes up for it. We also want to thank our reviewers Queen Nagini (who seems to be the only reader not directed here via the message board where it all started ;)) and shieldmaiden. Your reviews are very appreciated. 

And of course we really would like to thank Ponomoke who provided us with the song quote for this chapter. We owe her!


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

"_The wind, the rain, the storm will wash us clean again  
The wind, the rain, the storm will make us think again  
The wind, the rain, the storm will shake us up again  
And maybe we can start again."_

_Heather Nova, "Storm"_

* * *

_Orion:_

She stops short for a moment, then turns to me and says sarcastically: "Ever heard of something called training camp? I wasn't lying when I told you I'd have a heavy training session before me." What's her problem? I look at her, slightly bewildered. Honestly, have I done anything wrong? I'm just waiting in front of her door. She should feel honoured.

"And that's the reason you haven't written back?" I ask, trying to sound neutral but am not feeling that way.

She rolls her eyes and for a moment I'm even more bewildered. Is there something I should know? "When you don't get letters, you usually don't write back, do you?" she replies and seems on the edge already. What?

"Wait, are you telling me you didn't get them? And I was worrying all week for nothing?" I can't help but stare at her. That's absurd. Why have I ever come here? This won't lead anywhere.

"Didn't I just say that?" she says, with a disbelieving voice and look on her face. This situation starts to become surreal. I shake my head. Why have I ever thought about coming here?

"Sorry to bother you, then. Just forget about all this. It had been a horrific week, thank you very much", I say and get up, preparing to leave. At least I should make a point here. She should know that it's important. I mean, that's what it is... important. I should have talked to someone else instead. Surely there's someone?

At first, she's too surprised to react whatsoever. I'm already on my way to the next stairway, when she suddenly bursts out. "Hey, what do you think how _my_ week's been, huh?" she's calling after me, sounding a little angry already. Who cares about her week? I've been through hell!

I turn on my heels. "Well, enlighten me.", I say and it sounds a lot more sarcastic than I had meant it.

"And why should I? It doesn't seem as if you're overly interested in anything beside yourself.", she gives back, in a snappy voice that I draw back instinctively. _Where's the Hufflepuff gone?_ I don't understand why she's so angry with me.

"What makes you suppose that, pray?" I reply, and could just slap myself. I'm angry, so I'm getting sarcastic. It's all gone way over my head and I could start panicking any time soon. I didn't mean to be rude on purpose. But she's provoking me, right? Who could have foreseen that she'd be so unbalanced?

And there she goes. "Because," she starts and her eyes narrow threateningly, her voice is calm and cold as ice, "ever since I've met you the first time you were acting and talking like a self-righteous bastard. Everything in the world needs to evolve around you, everyone is to be judged by your standards... to be blunt: You are just one big pain in the posterior, Yaxley."

My jaw drops. _Who are you and what have you done to Lavinia?_ I can't believe it. This is insolence! A part of me wants to leave, quickly and forever, why should I listen to this after all? I'm surprised to hear myself speak and try hard not to show that I'm about to panic. "You start to sound just like Emerson!"_ Right. Mention her of all people_, I think, miserably and stay where I was. Not because I chose to but because I'm unable to move.

She raises her eyebrow. _This is so unnerving!_ "Is that supposed to be an insult? Really, Yaxley, can't you even do that right?" she says, and at first I continue staring at her. What does she mean by "doing that right"? I feel positively uncomfortable now.

"Listen, Lavinia. o.k. I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. How was your week? Mine was hell, just so you know." it bursts out of me; when all I wanted a minute ago was getting out of this mess as quick as possible. _And tell me why I couldn't stop thinking about you!_ I must look desperate, I know it and I hate it.

I can feel her temper rise again. _What's the matter now? I said I was sorry, isn't that enough? _"You already said that. How often will you tell me you had a bad week, huh?" she tells me. Flat out.

"Because it's true! First that stupid interview everyone keeps on complaining about, while I'm sitting all alone in that godforsaken manor house. How I hate it! And then the thing with Emerson, oh, and now this damn article of this… this evil woman", I start ranting, oh my… When exactly did I lose control over my voice? If I didn't know better I would suspect some kind of magic behind it all. "Now, what about you? Anything to top that?" I glare at her expectantly.

Oh my… she's glaring back at me so hard that I expect to start burning the next second. On top of everything. "You're doing it again, Yaxley. Everything is about _you_. Everything was bad for _you_. Everything made _you_ cry like a baby. _My_ week was hell, but I'm not wailing like a Merlin-forsaken cry-baby about it. In fact, all I want to do about it now is entering my place, have a nice hot bath and go to sleep as soon as I can." It all lashes down on me. She had started calmly but got more and more excited about it, as if she had wanted to tell me this for a while but never did. Finally, she tries to look composed again.

_What the hell has happened? _I feel shattered. What do women have against me lately? I know when I have to admit defeat; especially when it's as obvious as this. I don't say anything anymore but decide to leave. I won't come back here for sure._ How silly to think you could warm up old friendships if you don't know what had happened in between…_

Just when I reach the first step of the stairway, I turn around again. "Goodbye, Lavinia. I…," I stop for a moment, what did I want to say exactly? I'm not used to be at a loss of words. "I'm leaving. Sorry to even have thought about you in the first place. Won't happen again. Promise." This is it. I try to leave.

* * *

_Lavinia:_

I stop again, puzzled. What the… I know I should let him just leave and be gone, but my mouth gets ahead of my brain. Again. "Hey! _Hey_! You're not getting away _that_ easily, mister! And _stop_ acting like a bloody drama queen, for Merlin's sake!"

Before he can answer, though, suddenly a door upstairs is thrown open and a voice bellows: "Will you just _shut the hell up_ down there? There are people here who actually have work and _need to bloody sleep_!"

He stops dead in his tracks. I'm not sure whether it's because of my shout or the one from above, but quite frankly I don't care. Then he says in his typical sneer – this time topped with just the right amount of hinted self-pity: "Oh, why shouldn't I leave? I heard you – you made your point _quite_ clear, thank you very much."

Exasperated I roll my eyes, relieved he can't actually see it, because he has already his back to me, and – trying to keep my voice level – say: "Oh, come on, Yaxley, you and I both know you desperately want to get something off your chest. And I want to get out of the cold. Besides hot baths after a week of heavy training are overrated anyway, as opposed to good stories. Yours seems funny enough… so… join me for a cup of tea?" _McNeil… McNeil, have you lost your mind now completely? Have you gone bonkers beyond the point of no return?_ Why _are you asking that self-centred insensitive prick of a Slytherin into your appartment?_

For a moment I've got the feeling he'll go through with the leaving, but then my assessment of him proves to be true. Hiding the immediate smugness does take a little effort, to be true. "And you're not just saying that to mock me?" Isn't he a sweet one? _That's_ the reason why I asked him in. Only… not. In truth it was his comment about "Emerson" and some article that peeked my interest. Didn't just to want to show that yet then.

I roll my eyes again, hoping he doesn't take too much offence and try to sound good-natured when I say: "No, I'm not saying that to just mock you. I'm not a two-timing Slytherin, you know."

Instead of the snappy comment I half expected he just looks a little sceptically, then sighs and nods toward my door. Without another comment, I tip the lock with my wand and open the door. When we are inside, he says with a sincerity that astounds me: "Listen, Lavinia, I'm sorry it sounded as if I didn't really want to know about your week. Honestly... why was it hell?"

For a moment I'm tempted to just brush him off again, but it's a rare occasion when Orion Yaxley shows real compassion and interest for someone else beside him, so he should get rewarded. So, during the process of throwing my bag into a corner and taking off my shoes, I say: "Worst training camp _ever_. I even fell off the broom once. On a totally perfect windless day. Coach decked me fair and square for that. Now, go on and have a good laugh at my expense, won't you?" I just can't help it. Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have stopped myself before adding that. It's just… I don't want him to see _how_ much all of that actually effects me, and so I stay with throwing on an armour of irony.

We're both done with taking off shoes and coats, and he surprises me again by actually _not_ laughing and saying: "Why should I laugh about that? I don't suppose it's fun to fall off a broom, windless day or not." and shrugs.

Going into the living room and throwing an _Incendio_ at the fireplace, I turn around and say: "You're damn right, it isn't. It's painful, it's dangerous and it's downright embarrassing. Most of all for someone who's been able to ride a broom before she even could walk properly." Dammit. Why am I giving away so much? And… _Holy Merlin_, what are all those letters doing on the floor before the window I left open for April?

Stunned I stand there in silence until he says a little surprised from behind: "You could ride a broom before you could walk?"

A little absentmindedly I say: "'Course I could. That's what you get when your grandfather is one of the best Quidditch players of his time."

He's standing beside me now, and instead of answering he says a little dryly: "Ah, there they are... my letters... the reason why you never wrote back."

I only nod then say still a little dazed: "Well… _really_ must have been a hell of a week for you. Do you mind if I don't start reading them right away? I'm in more of a… listening mood. Short attention span and all that."

"Oh, you know, you don't have to read them... at all. It was just...," he coughs, "an act of desperation. So... never mind." Uh-huh, yes, of course. You're hiding something, and if I wasn't so terribly tired I'd bug you long enough to get it all out of you, even if I have to do it for the whole next week.

But as it is, I say: "Sure. For tonight that is. But you know, before I finally fall face first into my bed, you could tell me a little bed-time story. What exactly was that comment with Emerson about?" In an afterthought I gesture towards the armchairs in front of the fireplace and add: "You can even take a seat if you want.," and sit down myself. Aaah.

Seems I've caught him off-guard, because he first looks a little startled, then sits down and then pulls out a sheet of paper and holds it towards me, saying: "This is what happened. It basically says that I would have an affair with Emerson. Which I don't. I just met her accidentally last Thursday, and I actually don't remember much of that meeting - at all." He yawns, and suddenly looks very tired. Mh… But for now I only take the piece of paper and have a hard time refraining from laughing out loud, even at what I can see at first glance.

It's a rather long article with the headline "_Not so pure Romance_" – obviously referring to Linda Emerson's ground breaking non-fictional shocker on Purebloods and their hypocritical view of the world, "Not so pure" – and a picture of Linda and Yaxley showing them getting intimate. Obviously manipulated, but still highly entertaining.

And a little… wait… what's that? Jealousy? Oh. No. Not going there. To cover up my confusion, I say: "Of course. You just ran into Linda Emerson – your mortal enemy at School, only topped by Lynx Prewitt – and had what… a drinking contest?" There's another picture a little further down, this time not manipulated, where you can see that they are sitting in a pub, with several mugs and shots on the table before them.

I look at him, with an eyebrow drawn up, and he shrugs and says: "That's exactly what happened." This time I can't hold back a doubting glance. "Don't look at me like that. It went all wrong. My secretary mixed up weeks again and had sent me to an appointment to this... place and he wasn't there. I didn't know that, of course. So I went to the pub and met her there. I just wanted to talk a bit... because I had been rather lonely these days... and one thing had lead to another."

I can't quite refrain from grinning and laughing and say: "One thing. Led to another. Yaxley… if I didn't know better, I'd say you were sounding mighty ambiguous. Come on, share the whole story." In the same moment I say it, I'm not quite sure if I _really_ want to hear the whole story. Or at least what I think the whole story is. I just hope that nothing of that is showing.

He sighs, and answers not fully honestly apalled: "I meant drinking! What did you think?" After a little hesitation he adds: "To be honest I don't remember what has happened. Only that she had proposed this stupid drinking game, you know, "never have I ever"...? And it sort of... went out of control, must have. I... I woke up in her bed the next day with a head like this." His hands indicate a size remarkably bigger than his head. "But she assured me that nothing... inappropriate... had happened that night. Of course that's not what that stupid Carrow-girl is telling everyone. Makes it look like we have had an affair... just because she had gotten hold of those tasteless old pictures. I didn't even know they still existed." He leans back in his armchair, and suddenly looks really terribly tired.

Something inside me stirs and feels really sorry for him, so after a short silence I say: "Hey, Ya… Orion. It's… pretty late, and maybe we should continue this conversation tomorrow and got to sleep now. You really should go home… " And then I remember something about him feeling lonely at the manor that had slipped past his lips a while earlier, and continue in a bout of true Hufflepuff sympathy: "Or you could… you know… take the couch and sleep here for tonight."

I wait for an answer, but after a few moments I realise that there won't be any, at least for tonight, because he's… well… having his eyes closed and the regular breathing of someone fast asleep. In the flickering light from the fire, his face looks almost serene, if only a little haggard. And who wouldn't with Lucinda "Witch Weekly Celebrity Chaser #1" Carrow harassing them? Maybe it's really been a hard week for him. I sigh.

Waking him up seems out of question now because he looked like he really needed the sleep. But he'll feel terrible if he stays there the whole night. I sigh again and get up. After I put a blanket and a cushion on the sofa and a piece of parchment beside him telling him he could use the couch if he wakes up, I finally make my way to my own bedroom. Good thing the coach gave us all a free day for tomorrow. I feel like I could sleep for at least 12 hours straight.

* * *

**A/N: **Lookie! It's two chapters on one evening! "Are we good? We're good!" (whoever guesses which movie quote has been altered here just a little will get an... extra cookie). Anyway: Again, we want to thank someone for the song quote, which this time is Heidelbeere, my (i.e. Rowena's) sister. We owe you, too! 

And... well... here we are, introducing a plot bunny the size of... a small planetoid. At least. Its name is Linda Emerson, and as marginal as it may appear from the first glance, it's HUGE! Believe me! We caused an... avalanche or something. Rareb just told me that the Linda/Orion-drinking-scene maybe published in the near future, and that Stina (one of our reviewers, the one who "owns" Linda) will be co-writing it. Look forward to reading it (will not say "Fear it!", will not say "Fear it!", will not say...)!

Oh, and before I forget it: Reviews of course will be thoroughly appreciated and save our lives. Or something.


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight**

"_Milk and toast and honey make it sunny on a rainy Saturday.  
Milk and toast, some coffee take the stuffiness out of days you hate, you really hate."_

_Roxette, "Milk and toast and honey"_

* * *

_ Orion:_

"Where am I?" It seems that I'm repeating this question rather often these days. I woke up in the middle of the night sitting in an armchair beside a fireplace. But unlike last Thursday I remember after a moment of confusion. I'm at Lavinia's. How embarrassing, I must have fallen asleep. Why didn't she wake me?

I find the explanation lying beside me on the armrest of the chair. Scribbled on a piece of parchment I read:

_"Would have woken you up, but you looked like you could use the sleep. In case you wake up and don't want to go, you can take the couch. There's a blanket and a cushion on it. _

_Lavinia"_

I smile. That's the Lavinia I had known at Hogwarts. I get up and go to the couch. Like she had written I find a blanket and a cushion there. My neck hurts slightly because of the uncomfortable position I had slept in before. I'm grateful for everything at the moment. The possibility to lay down for one thing – or the fact that I don't have to go back to the manor just now.

It is already broad daylight outside when I wake up again. For a moment I stay lying here, watching the ceiling of her apartment – then I slowly get up. In the corridor, all doors except one are closed. I'm not going to try and open them. Unknowingly sleeping in Linda's bed, even if nothing had happened, is enough to embarrass me forever. I won't accidentally step into Lavinia's bedroom as well.

Fortunately, the open door leads into the kitchen. It is a rather small, normal kitchen that goes with apartments like this. Apart the usual equipment it has only a small table under the window. You can see that only one person lives here.

I hesitate. It's not appropriate to nose around in other people's kitchens. Least of all when they have been nice to you… Suddenly I have an idea.

"Bongo", I say in a low, but commanding voice and wait for the all too familiar plopping noise. It comes the next second. One of my house-elves appears in front of me. He bows low:

"Master Yaxley, what's your wish?", he says in the characteristic high pitched voice of house-elves.

I indicate him to keep his voice low. "I want you to prepare breakfast for two people here."

I pause. The House-elf already starts bowing again when I add: "You may bring anything from the manor you need. I want it to be perfect."

"Certainly, Master, anything else?", the house-elf whispers, afraid to raise his voice too high.

"No, that's all.", I say and leave the kitchen for the living room. Soon I can hear the house-elf labouring in the kitchen. I hope Lavinia will like my surprise.

I sit on the couch, looking around me and suddenly I notice my letters. They're still lying on the floor. I could just pick them up and she'd never even read them. They're embarrassing; acts of desperation. I'm still fighting with myself, when I hear another door open in the corridor.

Moments later, she enters the living room, yawning but cheerful.

"Good morning, Lavinia," I say and add, a little awkwardly, "well, thanks for letting me stay here last night."

"Anytime, Orion," she says, frowning, "what are you doing there with the letters?" she asks and I immediately stop picking them up. She now strokes her owl absentmindedly and I use it to put the letters back on the floor.

"Nothing. I just…" I start and I really find it appropriate to subtly change the subject. "Do you want to take breakfast now? It should be ready by now."

She looks at me suspiciously. "Breakfast?" she asks. I can see her raising an eyebrow. Why the question? Isn't it completely normal to be grateful for a bit of hospitality? This shows once again that she's obviously not used to be around decent people like myself.

I get up again and beam at her. "In your kitchen."

Her suspicion grows deeper as she goes towards the kitchen and I can't figure out why. What does she have now? I follow a bit behind her.

Her suspicion grows deeper as she goes towards the kitchen. _What does she have now?_ I follow a bit behind her.

"Yaxley", she says, in a stern voice that hits me unprepared, "what is a house-elf doing in my kitchen?"

I'm puzzled. "He's mine", I tell her, "I ordered him to make breakfast. Doesn't it look lovely?" I'm still smiling. Maybe she only slept bad last night.

"You…? Yaxley, I have a question for you", she says. It sounded matter-of-factly, but the undertone is far too foreboding to be harmless.

What? It seems as if she's got a problem with that. I don't get it. Doesn't she like breakfast? "Yes?"

"Do you, by any chance, remember an organisation called SPEW?", she asks me, in the same voice, but getting just subtly more threatening.

_SPEW?_Honestly, I have no idea what she's talking about. And this is exactly how I look now. I didn't know that there was an organisation against breakfast? "No?" I'm not overly talkative anymore. The last thunderstorm from yesterday is still very present. I don't want to do something wrong again. Hell, it was supposed to be a good surprise!

Her tone is becoming slightly annoying. She sounds as if she wanted to explain something to a child. _Stop doing that!_ Never since the death of my grandmother has someone ever had the nerve to talk to me like that. "Well, _I_ remember SPEW. Founded by Hermione Granger," I roll my eyes. So she's talking about that stupid project. Trust a _muggleborn_ Gryffindor! "In our fifth year. Means "Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare". Does it ring a bell now?" I'm in for trouble. Again. I see now. She's in for that 'I don't like people having house-elves'-crap. I don't see their point. I just let the elf prepare breakfast. That's what you have house-elves for, right? Preparing delicious things for you, keeping your house in order and serving you in any other way. And they like being of service!

"OK, got it. You remember that SPEW-Club. And…?" I'm getting sarcastic again.

"And you may not remember it, but I was a supporter. Not a member, but a supporter. Am I getting my point through your thick skull?" she tells me. Ah… right. Either we start an endless discussion now or we leave the entire thing.

"Yes. So?" I ask bluntly. I still can't believe it. She's actually mad at me for bringing in the house-elf. How does she suppose I would think about something like that? I've been living around house-elves ever since I've been born – I don't understand the problem. Or how should I look after that manor house all by myself? I feel provocative now but only just manage not to let anything slip.

"Yes. So?", I ask. Of course I know now. She's mad at me for bringing in the house-elf. How does she suppose I would think about something like that? I've been living around house-elves ever since I've been born – I don't understand the problem. Or how should I look after that manor house all by myself? It's mean perhaps but I feel a little provocative now.

"Look... I understand that you find having house-elves totally normal, but I... don't. Not for me, at least. And you know... considering these circumstances...", she's getting a bit impatient, even though she tries to control it, "it _does_ seem a little rude to bring them here", she explains.

What circumstances? I can't think about any occasion the help of a house-elf might be considered rude – but there she goes. Either we start a profound discussion and let the food get cold, or I just let it rest. Maybe she is right and I'm just too used to it. I clear my throat.

"I…" OK, this is no way to start. I look at her apologetically. No discussion, I have to remember that. "Can't you just take it as a… thank you? I… didn't mean no offence. Seriously." I tell her – that's not even a lie - and point towards the kitchen table. "By the way… I'm starving."

At first it seems as if she wanted to continue discussing despite my efforts; but then she sniffs and her features relax.

"All right. A thank you. And... one that smells deliciously. Which actually works in your favor." she grins weakly and I have a hard time hiding how much this change of her mood reliefs me. "And I guess... we really shouldn't let go all that to waste, should we?" With that she enters the kitchen.

I run before her to offer her a chair. Never forget good manners. "I would be mad at you if you'd actually thought about wasting it", I say, smiling. _Why does she roll her eyes?_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

I just couldn't hold back rolling my eyes at his last comment. As if I would _ever_ let perfectly fine food go to waste. Without saying another word I sit down and help myself to a cup of coffee and some toast and butter. Always good for starters. And maybe a change of topic wouldn't be so bad, either. "So… now that we've got the time… won't you tell me everything about this thing with Linda Emerson?", I say, smirking a little.

"I already told you. Most of it I don't remember. Her breakfast was good, though.", he answers, obviously trying to sound non-committal, but managing to sound quite the opposite. As in ambiguous.

"Oh, of course. Her breakfast." Did I imagine that or did he just flinch a little? I have to admit, I'm inclined to believe him that nothing happened – he's just not the type of guy for something like that – but torturing him provides just too much of a breakfast entertainment to stop already.

"Yes, and she makes a good anti-hangover-potion. Have to admit it. Who would have thought she'd give something like this to me, former worst enemy?" As ever, he sounds like the ramrod stiff aristocrat he is, and it's exactly this which makes his words sound so ambiguous.

"Oh, "former"? Are you even on first name basis now?" I even manage to keep a straight face and a raised eyebrow which would do Professor McGonagall credit.

"Well, I suppose she's got her revenge now... and she wouldn't have given me advice if she still hated me, would she?" Oh. Now _that_ sounds interesting. Devouring my ham and eggs, I can barely hide an almost devilish smile.

"Advice? On what? How to loosen up a little? Because… you could really use_that_." I just hope his spirits are high enough that he sees the wink and hears the teasing tone, because under different circumstances he could very well consider this an insult.

"Actually…" And then he suddenly becomes very interested in his breakfast and very busy with buttering his toast. Oh no, Mr Yaxley. You wont get away. Not like this.

"Actually… what? Come on, it can't be that bad. And I could… function as a back-up. Tell you if she actually gave you some _good_ advice and all, you know." Still giving everything he has to the toast. As if that could fool me, really.

"You're too curious for your own good.", he then huffs. Actually, it's kind of cute how he tries to keep that advice to himself. And kind of suspicious.

"If I didn't know better… I'd say you're so secretive because this advice has to do something with either me or… whatever you had with Linda." Ha. Hit the bull's eye, didn't I? Or, well, at least his vigorous attack on his beans on toast says that.

He stops attacking his food, looks up and says, very determined: "I didn't have anything with her." He then even looks kind of smug. Until he realises that anyone with at least half a brain could figure out now that the advice had something to do with me. Before I can dig deeper, though, he abruptly lowers his head again and – trying to make it sound casual – says: "So... how was your training camp?" Very subtle, Mr Yaxley. As in "Obvious like a hippo on a savannah plain"-subtle. And even more casually, he says: "Apart from the fact that it was hell."

Obviously I won't get any more information today. But that's not a problem, because I'm actually able to read between the lines as well and got all that I wanted. So I say: "Well… let's just say it can't be labelled as a milestone in Lavinia McNeil's career." And suddenly it's me who's becoming very interested in her food. Huh?

"So, what are you going to do today?" Oh. How does he do that, huh? Always surprising me by being a gentleman when I don't expect it. Like now. Instead of prying – like little so not ladylike me – he just changes that topic again. Granted, it's the hippo and the savannah all over again, but he tried. And sometimes it's the thought that counts.

"Bumming around on the couch, reading some books, catching up on correspondence, maybe floo one or two friends… whatever people do on their spare day. What are your plans?" I blink as I realise that the last time ever I had a casual conversation with a man over breakfast was more than five years ago. Somehow… I missed it. Would actually be nice to have a conversation like this more often than every five years…

"That sounds nice. I'll have to go back to work. Hear some more comments about wasted printing space because of that interview... and possibly endure some snide remarks of Witch Weekly journalists... well, I'm not complaining, I normally like my work... but these days..." Why, Mr Yaxley, that sounds almost as if you're actually admitting to feeling bothered by something as mundane as being bullied by other people. But I have to say that look on his face – almost fully concealed weariness – makes me think twice about making a remark like that.

Instead I answer: "You and I both know that you're above such stuff." And out of a strange impulse I say: "You know, if it gets too bad, you could always come here for dinner. It would be only me who'd be teasing you, and I'm fairly sure you could handle _that_ perfectly well." Merlin, I hope I didn't sound to him like I sounded to myself – like a nervous teenager.

He raises and eyebrow. Then: "I'll think about it." I almost feel crestfallen at his non-committal answer. But only almost. I swear. I'm about to turn back to my toast, of course trying to look totally undisturbed by everything, when I suddenly see something flickering in his eyes and a strange straightening of his back. Then he says: "Honestly... that manor house is quite depressing, to be frank, so... I could accept your invitation."

I can't quite hide the chuffed smile at his last comment. In his language that meant: "I'm lonely, and I hate feeling like that but my stupid Pure-blood pride won't let me to show it to you. But I'm still _lonely_." And suddenly it hits me. If he is lonely… and – quite frankly – I'm lonely, too… Maybe we should do something against it. I clear my throat. "Actually… Sometimes this place here feels a little too big for me as well. I… really don't need a study. And it never was supposed to be a study, anyway. So… well… um…" Chicken, McNeil. _Chicken_!

Merlin, this is embarrassing. After clearing is throat and with the ghost of an amused smile on his lips he says: "If you want to suggest that I might move in here..." Insert pause just for dramatics here. "Just say it."

Now, be cool. Be suave. Be… "Um, yeah, that's… exactly what I wanted to say. So?" _Don't_ be like a school girl asking her first crush out on a date, McNeil. I bet you just blew it.

* * *

**A/N: ** Ha! Cliffhanger! HA! 

Um, okay, uh... just read and _review_. Please. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

"_Walking into warmth  
From the cold evening air  
Numb white fingers push  
Greasy rain through my hair  
You walk into view  
From shadow thrown against the door."_

_Anne Clark, "Homecoming"_

* * *

_ Lavinia:_

Bloody stupid idiot. Me, I mean. Or Yaxley. I'm still not quite sure. Maybe even us both. Made me go all teenager girl again. Even got me to floo Artemis for a good old-fashioned "Men are pigs!"-rant. And all because of three sentences: "I appreciate your offer. Really, I do. But I suppose it wouldn't be... appropriate for me to accept it.", said in this incredibly blasé voice aristocrats like him are bred for.

"Wouldn't be appropriate.", my arse. We're both adults, and this is not Regency where we need a chaperone to watch over our every move. Besides I wasn't proposing or anything, just asking him to move in with me. Nothing improper at all.

But maybe still stupid. In a bout of frustration I hit the water I'm lying in and little bubbles of "Bridget Bollingworth's Best Bath Bubbles" flow around and burst with a little _plop_. I sigh and lean back, closing my eyes. Soft candle light, warm water, fluffy foam and the scent of lavender surround me. Usually this helps me to calm down – those magically mood-adapting bath bubbles are worth every last sickle – but today… it seems as if it just won't help.

I think it's mostly because of this little voice in the back of my mind which keeps insisting on the fact that Orion maybe _is_ right. That suggesting we move together _was_ inappropriate. After all we only saw each other again a week ago. And calling that "a rocky start" would definitely be an understatement. If we really want to get back to something you could really call friendship we still have a long way to go. Plus all the emotional baggage we are both carrying around.

I groan. Oh yeah, the bloody baggage. One by one, moments I thought I had long forgotten – or repressed, depending on your point of view – come back to me. The time he told me about the mortal danger Tony was in if Avery found out I was seeing him, because he would automatically think it had been Tony who had rescued me from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was one of the only moments I ever had the feeling that he could be… dangerous. He'd been very determined – dragged me into the broom closet, magically closed the door and told me in no uncertain terms what would happen if Avery found out about Tony, all without letting me utter a single word.

Strangely enough I'd found a whole new form of respect for him that day. And… to be honest… somehow I did feel attracted by that behaviour. Took me at least three weeks to convince myself I like the supportive, nice type of guy – i.e. Tony – and not the determined, arrogant, dominant type – i.e. Orion. But what was worse: Somehow… we grew closer after that day. I remember the night we somehow ended up talking about each others' nightmares in said broom closet and then falling asleep leaning on each other.

Or… or that one kiss in the infamous closet. I still don't really know how it happened. One moment we were arguing about something and the next we... weren't. Instead we were kissing like there was no tomorrow, and _I was kissing him back_. Granted, in the moment I realised what I was doing I broke the kiss and ran out like there was a herd of Hinkypunks chasing me.

Accompanied by an angry "NGH!"-sound my hand splashes into the water again and more bubbles flow around. How can this one man manage what Tony never did? As long as I can remember I've never been infuriated or at least agitated with something Tony did. I didn't even go through that "How could you get yourself killed and leave me here all alone, you jerk?"-phase a lot of friends of mine were going through when loved ones fell victims to the Death Eaters. No, Tony and I… we had our rocky phases, but compared to what Yaxley and I were and are going through that was nothing. And still I… A sound pierces through the heated fuzziness of my bathroom.

It's the door bell chiming, but I just groan a "Go away." It chimes again. Unfortunately I left my wand outside in the living room so I can't even silence the bell with a quick flick. And again. Hey! Oh, another time. It's starting to sound… urgent. Dammit. I should have bought one of those that tell you who's standing at the door so you can choose to ignore them. But as it is, obviously I have to get out of the bath and go to the door. After all, it _could_ be someone important.

Sighing I get up and grab my bath rope. Grumbling a little I traipse to the door and open it. Yeah, could have been someone important. But it's Orion Yaxley.

* * *

_Orion:_

Back on Lavinia's doorstep. Again. I can't believe I'm doing this.

At first, I had been determined to go through with my answer. I was strangely touched by Lavinia's offer, but how would it look of someone found out? And hadn't Lucinda Carrow shown that she was on my trail already? After Linda, all I needed was another story about me and Lavinia.

I had entered my office late, which was unusual, but not disturbing, as we are all very flexible in our working hours. It had even been a rather quiet, uneventful morning. But in the afternoon, things started going wrong again.

The editor-in-chief paid me another visit, showing me Carrow's Article. He asked me, very rudely in fact, what this all meant and I couldn't honestly explain it all to him. Nor did I judge it necessary. Apparently, people were constantly asking him about this story and if it was true; because I simply wasn't the kind of person to do such a thing.

Officially, I'm still married and happy. It became increasingly more difficult to conceal it that my wife had – in truth – not just left me but kicked me out. I couldn't concentrate the whole afternoon. I mixed up appointments I couldn't blame on my secretary because I had set them myself. It was embarrassing, because I never get things like this wrong. And people let me know, all the time.

At teatime, I had been queuing up in the cantina and overheard a discussion of two Witch Weekly interns about my love life. One of the girls was convinced that Miss Carrow had written the truth and thought it very cruel and unfair against my wife. I had to restrain myself not to go there and correct them because they obviously weren't aware of my presence. The other was doubtful, but still told quite frankly that she didn't like me at all.

I'd probably never admitted it, but it was hurtful, listening to people talk about you in such a way. And to know that this kind of remarks weren't just made here, among journalists, but also in most of the wizard households in Britain wasn't reassuring in the slightest.

Finally, I received an angry memo from the sports department again, still concerning the interview with Lavinia and the intrigue they thought was behind it. That was the moment when my thoughts got back to her. And I realised that it was unbearable to go back to the manor and the house-elves and the silence again. Her offer sounded more and more tempting as time went by. And in the end, after a short detour to the manor, I found myself in front of her door again. I had even packed all the stuff I needed, transfigured, made transportable and all.

Now, she hasn't answered the first time I rang the bell; nor the second. I start panicking slightly. What if she isn't home?

At last, she opens, wearing nothing but a bath robe. I blush. _She smells of lavender_. I don't know where that thought came from. Before I can say anything, she's closed the door in front of me.

_Oh no, you've invited me, you'll let me in. _I continue pressing the button of the doorbell, shouting: "Lavinia! Please let me in! I've changed my mind!"

She opens the door again, looking annoyed. "What, your Victorian Pure Blood morals deserted you?"

I roll my eyes. "Please Lavinia, at least let me come in. I don't want anyone to see me here." Perhaps I sound a little panicked. But who wouldn't, with Miss Carrow on his trail?

"Oh, so you don't want any of your Pure Blood friends to know you're having social intercourse with any unworthy blood traitors?", she dares telling me and looks like she's going to explode again any minute.

"Why, aren't you an incredibly clever girl, always drawing the right conclusions.", I say, unable to conceal my anger under the sarcasm. "I'm sure you'd love Lucinda Carrow showing up here taking pictures and writing some absurd story about us, like she did with Linda. It would be even more interesting. She's just a writer, but you… you're even kind of a celebrity. What a story! The people will like it. Now let me in."

At first, she's eying me like I had lost my mind or something. I already think about leaving again. She sighs. "Okay, fine, be that way. And while you're at it, come in. My feet are starting to get cold", she says, and don't wait any longer.

I lift up my bags and get in, watching the empty stairways suspiciously.

I take a deep breath after she's closed the door behind us. "Thanks", I manage to say, even though I'm not sure if she'll let me stay or not.

All she does is shrug slightly. "You were sounding a little desperate", she tells me and suddenly blushes, if only a little. I blush, too, I can't see it but I fear it's more than her. She's still in her bath robe and half naked. I catch myself just before you could call it staring at her. She thankfully is forgetful about it.

"Um... would you mind if I go and change into... something else before we dissolve this whole mess? Just... sit down and wait a minute", she stammers and all I'm able to do is to nod. It's quite difficult not to look too intensely when she turns around to leave.

* * *

**A/N: **Mwahahahahahaha, I made Orion blush :D Um... okay, and Lavinia blushed, too. Err... well. 

Anyway, we want to thank all our faithful readers for staying with us. And we'd love those who don't belong to our message board to disguise themselves just once. Pretty please?

On a last note we want to thank Justine who gave the name for the Mary-Sue-bath-bubbles the twist in the right direction. All hail to the Queen Of Alliterations!


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

"_Monday you can fall apart  
Tuesday Wednesday break my heart  
Thursday doesn't even start."_

_The Cure, "Friday, I'm in love"_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

Merlin knows how hard it's been to walk at a normal pace just a few moments ago. I think I must have been burning with shame from my toes all the way up to my hairline. _Suits you right, McNeil._, I think and almost trip over the bath mat in my light frenzy to change. Then I blink. Why in Merlin's name am I making such a fuss, huh? This is _Orion_, for Heaven's sake. We've known each other since we've been First Years, on one level or the other. Okay, so he hasn't seen me half-naked before – at least I _hope_ he hasn't – but really… we've been friends. Friends don't make a fuss when one of them accidentally greets the other in nothing more than a bath robe, right? Right.

Okay, you're done. You've got a tee-shirt and some track pants on and there's no improper amount of skin showing. So don't behave like a fourteen-year old now, will you?

I straighten up again and go back to the living room. I want to say something, but the sight that greets me there makes me stop for a moment, with a slight smile on my face. April just arrived from her evening hunt and is sitting on the arm rest of the chair Orion is sitting in. The look on her face is what I call "Inquisitive Birdy", and she's looking very intensely at him. He reaches out to her and starts stroking her feathers. For a moment she looks like she's going to tell him where to stick his hands but then she relaxes and lets him pet her.

"You're lucky, you know.", I finally say to Orion and come into the living room again.

He turns his head, for a moment almost looking like an owl himself and says: "Am I?", arching up an eyebrow.

I nod. "Sure. For a moment Lady April here thought about making you one finger short, but somehow you managed to convince her otherwise. _I_ call that lucky." Then I turn to April and say: "And you, mylady, are not allowed to sit here. Shush."

Giving me a typical Orion-grin, he says: "Unlike me, you're mean to her. That's why…"

For a moment I'm tempted to grin back, but I know my ladybird. Give her your pinkie, and she takes the whole hand. So, trying to keep as stern as possible, I say: "I'm not mean to her, I'm merely protecting my furniture. Her Owlness knows that, doesn't she?", I add and give her a pointed look. After a few more moments of staring contest, April turns away in an incredibly dignified manner and then decides to change her sitting place in an equally dignified manner. Where she then sits down to sulk.

I roll my eyes and turn back to Orion, saying: "Okay, now that you spoiled my owl… do you want to see the study?"

Instead of jumping up and striding through the flat as if he owns the place which I expected, he stays seated and says a little wavering: "So, you let me stay? Sure?"

Giving him another rolling of my eyes I say: "No, I just want to make you jealous of my place and then throw you out again." When he's about to give back something no doubt snappy, I grin and say: "Of course I'm letting you stay. I wouldn't have invited you in the first place if I didn't want to. Now, you want to see the room or not?"

With a face that would rival April's looks of owlish dignity, he gets up and says: "I cordially accept your offer... to show me the room." I'm about to get offended at his stupid Slytherinity when I see the slightly develish gleam in his eyes. Okay, this time he's not being an arrogant prick because he basically is one but he's trying to appear like one just to piss me off. Fine. Two can play that game.

I gesture towards the door and say: "After you, sir. It's the door right beside the window there in the back of the room. If you don't mind…"

We walk towards the room, and I open the door for him, giving him a mock bow. Inside there are slightly old-fashioned shelves moderately full with books lining the wall, a desk from the same decade facing the window in the middle of the room and an armchair by the window and a few other things needed for a study. I made a point of cleaning up in here regularly, but for some reason I practically never use that room for its intended purpose and it looks exactly that way.

From beside me I hear a slight cough and a "Right…", followed by a "Bong…", but he stops mid-word. Obviously his lordship was about to call his house-elf again but thought better of it. That's definitely a point for him, I have to say.

I guess I owe him something for that. "Um… of course I'm going to transfigure everything and help you redecorate the walls if you like… well… what do you say?"

I give him a slightly uncertain look, and then he says in his trademark dry voice: "There's definitely room for improvement.", turns around and grabs his bags. Well, I guess that's a yes, then.

* * *

_Orion:_

With Lavinia's help it didn't take long to make the room homelike. It was even quite enjoyable, making all the shelves disappear, putting up the bed and re-transfigure all my things. I would never have admitted it, of course, and moaned about how much easier it would have been to let the house-elf do it for us. I have to admit that it looks quite cosy now. A lot warmer and friendlier than the manor at any rate.

Finally, we had everything set up, took a quick dinner in the kitchen and went back to the living room. It is strange, sitting here, thinking that we're now flatmates or something. Lavinia has made some tea.

"So…did you enjoy your day off?" I ask to avoid an awkward silence.

"Um... okay. It was okay. How was your day?" she answers. I raise my eyebrows. This doesn't exactly sound like she's had a nice day.

I decide to ignore this, because I suppose she would have said anything if she'd wanted to talk about it.

"Don't ask, you don't want to know.", I say. Even though I try to sound causal, it comes out a little desperate. Why is that? I don't understand it. Normally, I'm not losing my bearing if I don't want to.

She raises an eyebrow. "Do I? Come on, tell me.", she's encouraging me. Now what? Should I tell her? I stay silent for a moment and look at her.

"Well…", I start, "It's still that stupid Carrow-article…" I sigh audibly. "I can't stand it anymore. Everyone – including my boss! – wants to know what really happened. If they don't think they know themselves, that is. As if it wasn't all embarrassing enough without the entire wizarding world discussing my personal life…" I pause. _This is all wrong._ "or worse, simply judge me by that."

It's her turn to be silent now. I try to read her expression but I can't. It's a little unnerving how she's always able to do that.

"You meant it when you said she could be around, there in the door way, right?", ah! Now she's sounding a little worried, too.

_Of course I meant it, what did you think?_ Better not say that aloud.

"If she's after you, you have to count on everything. Don't you know? You seem to be quite famous… I found out after the interview…" I don't know why I blush a little. I somehow still can't believe what she's become.

She certainly has changed a lot. Back at School she'd never have grinned at me like this, a little devilish even, saying: "Only_after_ the interview?"

I suppose I have to get used to that. Another thought suddenly crosses my mind. _I like it._ Yes, actually, it can be unnerving and disturbing, but… it suits her well. Not that I would tell her that.

"Obviously. You don't know how many times the people at the sports department have pointed out I've asked you the wrong questions", I go on. For a moment I'm tempted to ask the questions they missed, just to show them I can. But on a second thought… how would I explain why I've seen her again?

"Aw, come on. Don't tell me the great Yaxley messed something up." She's teasing me again!

"Not you, too.", I snap back, but not entirely serious.

She crosses her legs, puts her arms around her knees and looks at me with mock-interest. _What's that supposed to mean? …unnerving._

"Tell me, Orion... are you feeling fear of failing? Experiencing nervous breakdowns?" I give her a stern look that instantaneously sobers her up. "Okay, maybe not. But honestly: Was it so bad?", she goes on.

_Wait, what?_ "The interview? The boss liked it… but those sports guys? Terrible. I should have asked you if you're going to leave the Magpies, what you think about the… never mind. I've wasted their precious printing space, that's what they think. And they accuse me to be planning to reduce their importance on the paper, so… I guess I won't get their votes-" I abruptly stop._ Did I just say that aloud?_

"Votes? For becoming next editor-in-chief? Usually I'd start now with something like "If I didn't know you better...", but I _do_know you better... and now be honest, just for once: Did you change your mind because you just found the perfect way to maybe get those questions answered and secure the votes?" I watch her attentively while she speaks. Is it just me or does she look slightly suspicious?

I look straight into her eyes. "I'm not Miss Carrow, Lavinia. I don't deny that I've been bothered with that interview a lot, but this has nothing to do with it", I'm a bit insecure now. And she actually blushes a little. If I just knew why… After yet another silence – how I hate it – I try to change the subject. I ask the first question that comes to my mind:

"Your study? What was its intended purpose? You told me it wasn't meant to be one…"

"Oh... oh, that's... not important. Not... really.", she stammers, obviously distressed by the question. _Great, Yaxley! Put your foot in it again!_ What should I do now? Ask again? Change the subject? Apologise? I'm growing more and more uneasy.

She takes a deep breath. "But, you know... since you're going to live in that room for a while... you've got some right to know, mh? Anyway... it's... it was intended to be... a nursery. For some time after the war, when it was safe again to have kids and..." she tells me, looking even more uneasy than me and turning her head so I can't look directly into her eyes anymore.

I almost gulp audibly. What should I say about that? I don't know anything about her life since Hogwarts, nothing about her marriage... "I… I'm sorry… I didn't want…" _What_ didn't I want? Hell! How was I supposed to know it was such a serious question?

She still doesn't look exactly right, wipes her face with her hands, before she answers: "It's okay. Maybe that was a bit too forward from me. Sorry I kind of overran you with that.", she even tries to grin apologetically.

I still feel really uneasy but equally try to grin back. "Well… no matter. It's just…" I sigh heavily, "ten years _are_ a long time… I suppose."

"And this night's been long enough now. Got practise early tomorrow. Let's call it a night, huh?", she adds and gets up.

* * *

**A/N: **Woooey! Looks like we're on a roll, people! And there are so much who are having a look here or seem to read it on a regular basis. Come one, show yourself. There will be cookies. Cookies in the form of bats. We promise! 


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven**

"_Men.  
Have you ever tried to figure them out?  
Huh, me too, but I ain't got no clue  
How 'bout you?"_

_Shania Twain, "Shoes"_

* * *

_Orion:_

My entire body is hurting, at least it feels like it when I apparate in front of Lavinia's – or since two days our flat – and start using the incantations to open the door. I had been back to Ardfert to do the interview I had wanted to do a week ago. I went to Linda's hut, or whatever it is, to give back the tee-shirt, when the door had been opened by her very enraged boyfriend who obviously believed what Miss Carrow had written in her article.

I sigh again before I open the door, expecting Lavinia to be there. "Hi there!", I call, like I've done it previously.

"BUGGER!", I hear Lavinia cursing loudly in the kitchen, followed by a banging sound.

I walk to the kitchen door and ask her out of politeness: "What's the matter?"

"I can't use your stupid jokes right now, you know.", she's telling me, without looking up.

"Alright. I'm not keen on another fight today.", I say and put my hand against my considerably swollen cheek. Prewitt seems to be an expert Muggle fighter, I don't even have bruises – but my face will still be all black and blue by tomorrow if no one is healing me soon. Ah, now she's looking up. She has already half opened her mouth, no doubt to insult me, when she realises I'm hurt.

"What the bloody... who did you insult now? And don't tell me you "fell down the stairs".", she asks curiously.

"None of your business.", I snap back without looking at her. "Would you mind healing me before it's too late? Can you do that?"

I don't believe it. Lavinia is pouting now. I'm hurt, I'm in pain, but she is pouting! "I don't think so. You see this mess? No healing before I haven't cleaned that up. Believe it or not, there are more important things than your face, Yaxley." That woman's got nerves!

"What? I mean, your floor is more important to you than my face? Why, thank you, you're such a nice person.", if this isn't the time to get sarcastic there is no time for it. It would have been much easier if I could have healed myself. But I'm not risking another accident just because I'm too mixed up to say the incantation right.

I take out my wand to start removing the mess – I don't exactly know why, probably because I think it would annoy her. "And just for the record: My face hurts awfully!" _Why have I said that? _

She doesn't answer right away. I can see that she doesn't like me cleaning up but she isn't commenting on it. Instead, she keeps on teasing me about my injuries. "Well, whoever did this to you, I bet he had every right to do it. Hence: Keep it hurting. Will remind you not to insult any people who can punch like that as well."

I get angry with her. Why did I ever come here? She's worse than my wife for that matter. At least, my wife never had the nerve to insult me when I was hurt. Well, to be true, she didn't really care either. "I didn't insult anyone. It's just a stupid misunderstanding and he's never needed a reason to get against me, did he?"

I've finished cleaning up the kitchen, and all she's got to do is looking around absentmindedly. "Well, how can I know? You didn't even tell me what happened. What do you think? Pizza or Chinese food for supper?"

"You know, I could just call my house elf, we don't have to rely on those Muggle services", I don't hide that I'm not convinced with what Lavinia has told me is called "fast food". "And I did absolutely nothing. I just wanted to bring Linda her tee-shirt back, you know. And it seems that her boyfriend had just been waiting for me. How can she be with someone like _him_?" I glare at her. Why can't she just heal me?

The nerve that woman's got! She doesn't react to my proposition but goes to the – whatever Muggle-thing she is using to communicate – instead and orders pizza. Then, she turns to me again – and has still no intention in helping me!

"Orion Yaxley, I have _no_ idea what you're talking about. And unless you don't tell me more than those snippets, I'm not going to do _anything_ resembling healing.", she says.

"Are you trying to blackmail me or something?" I snap back. If she doesn't do anything soon, I'll have to go to work tomorrow with a blue and swollen face. I should have gone to St. Mungo's instead.

She's making an annoyed noise, throws her arms in the air and runs away into the living room. I'm still too confused about that behaviour when she starts speaking again.

"I'm_not_ blackmailing you. I just want to bloody know what happened to you. Because, you know, you're my flat mate, and as far as I remember, telling things to each other is an imminent part of being flatmates. So?"

"It isn't important. I just want to be healed, is this so difficult to you?" I'm increasingly unhappy about this situation.

Lavinia just shrugs slightly, and I suspect not entirely seriously. "Fine. Be like that. _You_'ve got to go to work looking like that."

_Wait. What? _How can she do that? Never had I thought that she would actually decide not to help me. Isn't that a part of being flatmates, too?

"Why are you so incredibly stubborn!" I exclaim but I still don't want to tell her what happened. How would this sound to her_ – I've got beaten up by one of your Hufflepuff-friends who hasn't even got a wand anymore?_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

"Oh well, maybe because I can't stand it when people I like are keeping secrets from me!" Uh, why did I say that just right now? Why did I say that _at all_? Then, suddenly I'm saved by the bell. Literally. Woohoo, the pizza's here. Not saying anything more I practically dash for the door, hoping I haven't blushed as violently as before. When I'm done with the pizza boy, I walk into the living room again, carrying two pizza boxes. I just _bet_ he's gonna get hungry, even if he claims he's not one for muggle fast food.

When he sees me he says "Oh, you must really like me if you don't care how much I suffer from these injuries.", sounding indeed a little whiny.

I can just suppress an amused smile and instead role my eyes, saying "'course I do. I just think this friendship-thing or whatever we are building up here should be two-ways. You tell me who's been giving you this beating, and I heal the result. Plus you can have some pizza on my account.", and set the pizza boxes down, opening mine. Ah, good old Pizza Caprese.

"If you _must_ know... it was Linda's boyfriend who obviously believed in what Miss Carrow had written in her article.", he says in that trademark "mortally offended"-posh-dignity he seems to have cultivated, and doesn't even look at the box before him. Fine. Go to bed hungry.

I take out the first slice of fat-dripping, delicious pizza and respond with: "I think you already said something of that account. Do I assume correctly that _I_ know that certain someone as well and you just don't want to tell me because it would be totally embarrassing to you to tell me who it was?" Oh. Seems like I hit home.

"Why are you so keen on knowing? Ask Emerson who her boyfriend was if you're interested." Well, yes, good question. Why _am_ I so keen on knowing? Oh right, because I sense a bloody good story behind all of this. Something really got him a snitch, and I just bet it's worth looking into it. I think, for now I'll just make a mental note to owl Linda in the near future. But I should warn him, that would be only fair.

"Okay. Just don't say I didn't warn you. Now, you know, I've got a generous day today, and "Ask Emerson" is as good as any answer. So… come over here, will you?" Look who's coming scuttling towards me. At first I conjure up some pieces of cotton wool and an antiseptic and dab at the places where skin has been damaged.

He makes a show of wincing, but I don't comment on it, because what he says is much more interesting. "I wouldn't owl her. She's got too much trouble at the moment I suppose. He's left her... I... I told her she should go after him. Don't know why I said that. Who would want to be with a guy like this?"

I grin. "You're not making it any better, Orion. I mean, you're practically _forcing_ me to owl her. And I think she could use some female support when you managed to chase away her boyfriend. Every way you look at it… you lose."

I'm done with dabbing, and he answers with: "If you want to get beaten up as well, do it. Prewitt's just got an awful temper. And he _hates_ me. I didn't do anything wrong. Idiot."

I nearly choke. He's got himself so worked up, he didn't even realise his tongue just slipped. And… _Prewitt_?_Lynx_ Prewitt? Boyfriend of _Linda Emerson_? Now I _have_ to owl her. Whoever would have thought those two would end up together? I mean, Linda Emerson was so studiously, even well-meaning schoolmates were not above calling her a bookworm or a smug. She was like… our year's Hermione Granger, minus the bushy hair and the front teeth. Oh, and of course minus the two heroes at her side. Anyway… _Linda Emerson_ and _Lynx Prewitt_? Just can't believe it.

Momentarily shut up by Orion's little slip of tongue I wave my wand at his face and intone "_Episky_." Immediately his face starts to shrink back to normal proportions. Content with my work, I can finally speak up again: "You sure you didn't do any wrong? I mean, this is you, foot-in-mouth Orion Yaxley and all…" When I see him getting ready to climb up his little soap box again, I just flash him a teasing grin.

Which he obviously doesn't get. "Of course, he's Mister Nice-Guy, Hufflepuff, do-gooder...", he shakes his head, "Oh no, not him. He doesn't need a reason to attack me. Idiot."

I roll my eyes. "Merlin, Orion, don't get your knickers in a twist. I was just _teasing_ you. What is it between you and Prewitt?" He's already taking in some air and preparing himself to say something, but I hold up a hand and say: "Come to think of it… tell me another time. I'm not sure if I'm in the mood for a tale of hate and misery right now."

After finishing healing him, I resorted to eating pizza again, silently awaiting his answer to this one. Then he says, sounding and looking pretty smug: "You didn't expect me to tell you about it, did you?"

I sigh. "No, not really. But that doesn't change the fact I still want to know someday. _Don't_ look like that. One day… I'll get it all out of you. Though, now…" I look at my nearly empty pizza box. When did I start eating so fast? "Well… let's call it an evening, huh? Coach is pestering me with extra training, ever since that Camp Of Doom."

I get up, and he follows suit, telling me: "Well... thanks for liking me enough to heal me in the end." You know what I would have been thankful for? Just for _once_ hearing some honest gratefulness or shame or anything like that in his voice. But I knew I wouldn't get that because it just isn't_Orion_, and so I keep quiet about it. So instead of commenting on it, I dispose of the boxes and then bid him good night.

And then some little pixie must be riding me, because at the living room door, I turn around one last time, and say: "Orion... just for the record: I do like you. I think you're funny, charming and just generally nice to be with. That is, if you're not being an overly insensitive, egoistic, whiny Slytherin prick. Which you are most of time. Because you _are_… I'm babbling. I like you. Even when being a prick." Not waiting for his answer, I turn around and finally retire to my bedroom. _Way to go, McNeil, way to go._

* * *

**A/N: **Look, we're still alive! Thanks to the reviewers. **luna**'s (I hope you don't mind your name being shortened) made us think a little, and we hope we made the difference a little more visible now. Or, to say it short: Lavinia sure as hell wouldn't whine like Orion does ;)_  
__  
_


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve**

"_It's just a ride, it's just a ride.  
Don't be scared,  
don't hide your eyes.  
It may feel so real inside.  
But don't forget:  
it's just a ride."_

_Jem, "Just a ride"_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

You know, good thing today is a holiday, at least in the Wizarding World. Because, last week was… strenuous. To me, because I'd had to endure Coach's extra training sessions, and to Orion because obviously Bryony had decided to get back for the article about him and Linda. In public. Okay, and maybe, because I couldn't really shake off thoughts of my nice little admission on the evening he came back from that ridiculous fight with Lynx.

I mean… what did I expect? I _knew_ that if the grown-up Orion had been only remotely like the teenager Orion, then there wouldn't be _any_ reaction at all. He'd just treat me as if nothing happened, either because it had been too embarrassing to him to hear something like that from me or he didn't know how to react. Still… I _did_ feel hurt. I mean… Merlin be damned, but I gave him shelter when he had practically nowhere to turn to and patched him up after that fight and… couldn't he just… fake it? If he doesn't like me, I mean.

Or… okay, maybe this time I'm really being unfair. When he came back that evening, he looked a little haunted. A little prodding had revealed the cause: There had been other yellow press articles involving him. Or rather, his wife. Obviously Mrs Maycroft-Yaxley had felt the need for a little revenge and had lamented about her terrible marriage – or rather washed some, according to Orion non-existent, dirty linen in public – to Miss Lucinda Carrow. They'd given him hell for that at work.

Yawning I finally sit up and stop brooding. This is, after all Wizarding D-Day, where we celebrate the end of the Wizarding War and remember those who've fallen. To be honest: I don't feel like remembering today. The anniversary of Tony's death is just too fresh, and the feelings of guilt for just standing by and providing entertainment while others fought are still too prominent to let any other memories bubble to the surface. Today, all I want to do is either lounge around and do nothing or do some celebrating.

Yawning and stretching, I enter the kitchen, where Orion – eternal early bird – is already sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in front of him and a Prophet in his hands. When he becomes aware of my presence, he looks up from his paper and gives me a usual half-smile and a "Good morning."

I smirk back, greet him and, taking the seat opposite from him, say: "How come you're still here? On a day like this… I thought you'd have like thousands of appointments, what with all the big wigs giving speeches and everything." He says nothing, just takes the paper to the side for a moment and gives me a look that says very clearly "Don't ask." I roll my eyes and start to butter a toast. I'd really like to beat the reason out of him, but it's very clear that he's resolved not to tell me anything. "You want me to beat them up for you?"

From behind the paper suddenly comes a choked cough that sounds a lot like someone tried to cover up a laugh he didn't want to be heard. I have to grin myself. Nice I can at least cheer him up a little. Oh, wait. Now _there's_ a thought. I continue with putting some lemon curd on my toast and say: "You know… why don't you just enjoy the day off? I'd planned to do some shopping in Muggle London, and we could as well do that together."

Without taking down the Prophet, he says a little sceptically: "Muggle London? Do you seriously think this is a good idea?" I roll my eyes again. Seems I'm doing this a lot around Orion.

"Of course! I bet you've never even been anywhere out of Diagon Alley, and not even saw the Tower or Buckingham Palace. 'Sides… who's gonna know you there? And… could you just take away that stupid paper? I really hate talking against a wall. Plus it's just plain impolite." Merlin, I just hope I got him at least with pointing out that he's behaving very improper with this whole paper act.

With a huff he throws the paper on the table. Ah, so you really get him with appealing at his sense of chivalry and politeness. Must make note for future reference. Then he says: "What do you think would Miss Carrow do if she saw me there?"

I take a bite from my toast and say between chewing: "You really think she's gonna run around Muggle London on a day like this? Come on, it'll be fun. And London is just _big_. Chances are near zero she or anyone else from the Wizarding community will see us. Just for once, Orion, do something that hasn't to do anything with being a proper Pureblood or work. It'll do you good." And it will. 10 galleons his boss didn't let him work because of the whole scandal Bryony caused. A day away from the Wizarding community might make him see there's more to the world than just his little Pureblood-community.

He frowns. "I haven't even got proper Muggle clothes, how would it look?" Ah, Mr Yaxley, the arguments are slowly leaving you. Don't think I haven't seen this. I know a way out of this. I just hope I can go through with it without losing it again.

"Well, you know, I still have some of Tony's Muggle things in one of my drawers…" Here I go, losing it. One more word, and I'll start crying. Just take the hint, Orion, just take it. And pretend you didn't see me losing contenance.

After a few more moments, where I'm almost dying of shame, I might add, he sighs and says – in a very formal and clipped tone: "Okay, I suppose you got me. - I'll accompany you today."

I'm a little taken aback, then I just grab the opportunity to escape the road to self-pity he offers – not sure, if willingly or not, by the way – and answer with: "Oooh, great. I knew you'd say yes." I even manage to beam at him, hoping he doesn't see behind it. And instead of answering, he just folds the paper together and gets up, giving me a raised eyebrow that very clearly says "Are you coming or what?"

* * *

_Orion:_

Why did I let her talk me into it? I still can't believe she actually managed to put me into Muggle clothes. The trousers look a bit ridiculous on me. Her husband hadn't been as tall as I am, but I suppose it's better than trying to go into Muggle-London with normal wizards robes.

To be completely honest… I haven't just agreed to accompany her because she wouldn't have given in anyways. I am a little curious. Not that I would have told anyone… but in all my life I've never really been to Muggle-London. I've been there, of course, once in a while, for an article or to meet people incognito. But I've never visited it just for the visit's sake. Going on uncharted territory can be thrilling.

When we reach the street I look at her expectantly. "If you would lead the way?" I ask grinning slightly, because I know she hates me being too formal. And she likes it. She wouldn't admit it, but she does.

First, she suggests we could visit the British Museum. I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I don't know the concept of a "museum" at all. I'm interested despite myself when she tells me it exposes objects of value of Muggle history. I've always liked History of Magic, it was my second favourite subject at school actually. I know more about Chinese wizarding history than about the Muggle one of our own country. Of course I pretend it is all boring and annoying while she's showing me the section about British History in the Museum. You have to keep up appearance. In reality and despite my own conviction I regret not knowing more about the objects that are represented here. It seems to be a lot more complex than I presumed.

I suppose she could still figure out I've enjoyed it, the way she's smiling knowingly when we leave again towards lunchtime.

Now she's insisting on using a thing called "London Underground" or even more suspiciously "Tube". I don't understand why we can't just apparate near the pizzeria she has chosen for lunch – but she argues that if we're spending this day the Muggle way we have to use their transportation system as well. So be it. It's not my fault if this goes wrong.

"Underground" and "Tube" turn out to be pretty accurate descriptions of this train-like institution. Despite myself I have to muster all my self-control not to get enthusiastic about those staircases that move totally without magic and bring passengers to the platforms under ground. I hope nobody – Lavinia least of all – notices me staring at those, well, marvels. I should definitely find out more about Muggles… I don't like this thought at all. Since I've met Lavinia again a few weeks ago, everything in my clear, well ordered world seems to turn upside down.

I'm still pondering about the meaning of all this when the train arrives with a clattering sound. I'm too stunned to react quickly and Lavinia has to practically drag me inside. I didn't expect it to close and leave so fast. The Hogwarts Express had always taken a long time to leave.

"Wow, that was neat! You could have warned me, you know?" I say breathing heavily while I collapse into the seat next to her.

"And where would have been the fun in that?" she answers, grinning broadly. Why do her eyes glint like that? I don't like that look on her face at all.

I do a mock curtsey. "I'm glad to be of entertainment." Today has so far been more fun than I had had in years, I can't help thinking while I grin back at her. I start to believe that this trip has been a good idea.

"Oh, what do you think convinced me to let you stay in my place?"I'm still looking at her. She's smirking at me, raising her eyebrows.

I blush. Why the heck do I blush? I never blush! "I had no idea", I answer trying to smirk back in the same nonchalant way – but I think I failed miserably. Is she thinking what I am thinking?

"I don't know what _you_ were thinking, but _I_ just had singing and dancing in mind", she's rolling her eyes in a theatrical way.

"Believe me, you wouldn't want to hear my singing", I snap back, unfortunately blushing even more.

She's laughing heartedly at that. I grin; she looks relaxed like I've hardly seen here these days. It suits her well. "You know what? You should laugh more often…" I say. It's out before I can think about it. When did I start talking before thinking? Turning my world upside down indeed… I silently shake my head. I'm still smiling absentmindedly.

And at first she winks back at me, smiling almost shyly – then she suddenly jumps to her feet and turns on her heels: "Uh... that's our station. We... gotta get out here."

At first, she winks at me, smiling almost shyly – then she suddenly jumps to her feet and turns on her heels: "Uh... that's our station. We... gotta get out here."

"Wait! How do you know?" I jump after her, but the doors of the tube are already closing. With my last effort I manage to get out of the vehicle before it continues its journey. I'm breathing heavily as in shock.

"I tell you something: Never will I ever use this dangerous thing again! Did you just see that? The doors nearly crushed me!" I have started wandering up and down on the platform in excitement about the abrupt end of our trip. What are those things? How can Muggles survive here?

And what is she doing?! She's nearly falling off the edge of the platform in a laughing fit. I've already calmed down and watch her annoyed when she finally gets a grip again.

"What's so funny about that?" I snap, folding my arms in front of my chest. If I had something to say in Muggle society I would forbid those things right away.

"You looked just like a country bumpkin on his first day in London. Oh," she starts laughing again, "Well... basically... you _are_ one..."

"My patience isn't endless, you know. Would you mind leaving this dreadful place and proceed to the Pizzeria you have chosen for dinner?" I pretend to be pouting. Well, actually, I feel a bit hurt.

"Aw, don't be like that... come on, I'll pay for the antipasti", she's still grinning at me and waves to lead the way.

Soon, we arrive in a small side street I would never have found on my own. But Lavinia seems to know exactly where she's going. When we enter the restaurant it becomes apparent that it's not the first time she's eating here.

The owner comes towards her as soon as he recognizes her. "Lavinia, cara mia! Haven't seen you in ages! A table for one person as usual?" he says, hugs her a little too tightly for my taste and kisses both her cheeks. Why hasn't she talked to me about him? I eye him suspiciously and clear my throat.

"It would be two persons – if you would be so kind – and I'd prefer a private corner, thank you very much", I say, as formal as I can. How come she's so close with that man? Is there something I should know?

All Lavinia does is rolling her eyes. "Marco... you have to forgive my friend for being so... formal. He's new to London. Orion, this is Marco, owner of the best pizzeria in all London. Marco, this is Orion, a friend from Ho... School."

"It's a pleasure to meet you", I reply automatically, even though I don't see the pleasure in it. Is this guy a Muggle? I make a mental note to ask Lavinia about him as soon as we've taken seats. Can't you expect to know things like that when you move in together? And Lavinia of all people, who always insists on me being open with her.

* * *

**A/N: **Um... yeah, so we took our time. But there were a _lot _of changes in both our lives, and we had to come to terms with them (eh, well, we _still _have to, but... nevermind). But it's december, and it was Christmas (for me it still is, but... anway) which is always a good time for writing. So... a belated "Happy Holidays" to all of you and a belated Christmas gift :) 


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

"_Now that it's gone too far to call for a halt,  
I'll blame it on the moon  
'Cause it's not my fault;  
I didn't think I'd this would happen so soon  
So I'll blame it on the moon."_

_Katie Melua, "I'll blame it on the moon"_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

Finally we're seated. After that strangely frosted introduction scene at the entrance, I could really use some quiet talking. I'm determined not to get my day spoiled, not even – no, most of all not – by one Orion Yaxley. Marco comes back to the table, two menus in his hand and a charming smile on his face. The air around Orion though seems to have cooled down another few grades. I withstand any eye rolling and wait until Marco is gone. Then I say: "Whatever did Marco do to become a persona non grata in your world?"

Taking up his menu, he says a little filled with consternation: "Who is this person? You seem to be quite close..." Oh. _Oh_. I can hardly hold back a wicked grin.

"Oh, well, now that you're asking so directly…" I let the sentence trail for a moment long enough to turn another page and browse over the food offered there.

From the other side of the table comes a "Yes?", and I'm honestly surprised that it sounds so… interested. Not in the prying, gossipy manner I would have expected from most of my girl friends, but typically Orion. A kind of… underlying interest, like it's barely kept at bay. Oh well, seems like he's not going to spoil my fun but continuing to add to it.

"We are… friends. _Special_ friends. If you get my meaning." Oh, he's so gonna freak now. I mean, not really _freak_ freak, but just… freak in his uniquely Orion-way.

"Are you now? How come I've never met him?" Did I tell it? Did I _tell_ it? Oh yes, I did. Though… I have to say that I didn't really expect the prying boyfriend. Where the hell's this going now?

"Orion… we only met again what? A month ago? After ten years of hearing nothing from each other? Think again." Now I can't hold back the amused grin, and I guess that was a dead give away that I'm just joking, even for him.

When there's no comeback, I look up from the menu, only to see him a little aghast. Now look at that. Orion "Witty comeback always at hand" Yaxley speechless. Definitely a moment to remember. But before I can say anything, swift steps come up from behind, and with a flourish Marco comes to stand by our table. He flashed me another on of his trademark grins and says: "Well, 'Vinia, what will it be?"

I risk a short glance at Orion and see his blue eyes sparkle with something looking a lot like agitation in them. Huh? Pretending I didn't see anything in his eyes, I turn back to Marco, and say with my most dazzling smile: "A water, the antipasti plate and a nice big tuna pizza."

Both Orion and I have noticed that Marco is not making any tries to ask Orion. The sparkling blue eyes now have turned ice-blue and are looking stern when he clears his throat and says: "And I will have a glass of your… Cabernet Sauvignon and a… pizza Four Seasons." Marco already wants to return to the kitchen, but Orion clears his throat again, this time a little louder. All Marco does is raising his eyebrow. I'm starting to get the distinct feeling that this is about more than food. "If it isn't too great an inconvenience for you, please put the tomatoes only on the ham part. And only mozzarella, no other cheese. And could you please be careful with the artichoke, I'm allergic to it. Oh, and no pepperoni please. Would that be possible?"

Marco just says: "Of course, sir. We are glad to be of service to any… friends of 'Vinia's.", and then he stalks back to the kitchen. I stifle a laugh. Men.

And of course Orion has a say in this as well. With a thud he closes his menu and says in voice that I daresay sounds snotty and disapprovingly: "Unpleasant chap." I only shake my head.

The rest of the lunch is spent with witty conversation and a lot of teasing from my side, well-placed, deliberate and _definitely_ unneeded interruptions by Marco and several icy glances and clipped comebacks from Orion. The more the time continues, the more I get the feeling that two males are trying to show a female who's the alpha around here.

With Marco… I understand it. I'm used to him doing it. We're friends dating back to the middle of the war, when this secluded pizzeria became a haven for me and Tony, and he's always been flirting with me, good-natured and totally without deeper meaning. Tony often enough joined him in teasing me. But Orion… I don't get it. He's still a married man, and I always had the impression that he would fight for his marriage, even if it was only to keep up appearances. Apart from that, I think Bryony's escapades really hurt _him_, not only his reputation or his male pride.

Anyway… we're done and out on the street again and I just can't believe the scene I just witnessed. When I was about to take out my purse to pay, Orion suddenly said "I'm paying." And then he did take out a few Muggle money notes and gave a ridiculously high amount of tip. I guess Marco actually felt mortally offended. He _hates_ customers who play show off with their money.

And I bet Orion isn't stupid enough not to know that giving too much tip is an offence as serious as giving not enough. The whole exchange totally confirmed my alpha male theory, and I swear one day I'm going to ask Orion what this was all about. But not now. Now it's shopping time.

* * *

_Orion:_

"Can't we apparate?" I ask directly after we've left the restaurant. I want to get away from this place as soon as possible. I can't see why Lavinia counts someone like this Italian idiot among her friends. She deserves way better than that.

"No", it doesn't sound like there's room for negotiation here.

"Listen-", I stop because she's immediately folding her arms in front of her chest, tilting her head to one side and taping her foot impatiently.

"I won't use that Tube-thing again, I tell you that. We walk", I continue. It's not a suggestion. I start walking because there obviously isn't anything more to tell. She isn't following, so I turn on my heels again. "Are you coming or what?"

"Don't be juvenile", she replies, rolling her eyes.

"Who's acting juvenile here?" I give back, catching a pointed glance from her. But she is coming alright. I sigh inaudibly.

When we finally reach Oxford Street – the only area in Muggle London I already knew, even though I've never done shopping or similar things there – I don't have a say in anything anymore. She's practically dragging me into every clothes shop she can find. And I let myself being dragged. After all, it is quite a shame that I'm not working on an important day like this. But now that I have to try on different, totally unpractical clothes and show them to Lavinia's critical eyes I don't have as much time brooding over my cruel fate.

Of course I'm not really telling her that; but she knows anyway. So why should I tell her?

In the evening, we suddenly feel like celebrating the Wizarding D-Day after all. It had been a pleasant day against all expectations, I have to admit that. We're sitting over an early dinner when Lavinia asks me a strange question:

"Do you suffer from vertigo?"

"No", I reply without thinking. Actually… I don't particularly like heights. But I'm a little curious where this is leading.

"May I ask the reason for your inquiring?" I continue, deliberately overpolite.

"It's a surprise", she's telling me with a little devilish glint in her eyes that doesn't bode well and gets up from the table.

Thirty minutes and a life-endangering climb later we're sitting on the roof-top. It took us quite some time to get all the magic in place that should keep us safe and sound while there. While I continue to fear for my life she's carelessly putting down the basket beside her and turns to me: "I'm surprised you haven't had a heart-attack yet."

"I don't think my physical health is a matter of joking", I respond a little offended.

"Oh…you didn't think I'd be stupid enough to climb around here without any safety charms in place", she's explaining matter-of-factly while I'm desperately trying to keep my countenance. I don't see what could possibly be funny about that.

Surely a diversion is the best way to react to that: "You've done that before?" I ask in horror.

She's finally settled down and shifts in place. Suddenly, she seems to be very interested in a first lone exploding piece of firework lighting up the sky in front of us. "Not really often. Just when things are getting too much."

Her mood change confuses me a little. How am I supposed to react to that? It had been a harmless question. With her, you have to be careful all the time not to transgress some invisible frontiers you didn't know were there before.

"What do you mean by 'getting too much'?" so much for transgressing invisible frontiers.

Before she can answer she's saved by the bell. Respectively the owls. They arrive flying over the roof. I can't believe it. They seem to be pouting that we haven't been paying them enough attention today. Pleiade has never done anything like that before.

"Youre owl is setting a bad example for her. She's never behaved like this", I tell her while I stroke my owl absentmindedly. Lavinia is already spoiling her April again, feeding her with the Owl Treat she has apparently brought with her in the basket.

Suddenly, Pleiade is leaving her sitting-place on my knees and flies over to Lavinia, claiming her share of the Owl Treat.

"Unlike me, you're mean to her", she says, looking smug. She's caught me off guard with that. I can't hide a small smile. The owls start bickering over the food and I don't feel like intruding. I try to appear captivated by the increasingly bright fireworks. I hope Lavinia doesn't find out I'm just pretending. After a while, when the owls have calmed down a bit – it's more a cease-fire than actual peace - I turn to her again.

"I didn't know you like me so much you even remember what I've said a few weeks ago", I say because it seemed like a witty comment to me. She isn't retorting like I'd expected of her. Instead, she's turning away slightly and starts fiddling with her hair. I hate awkward silence.

For a moment it looks like she's finally preparing to continue the conversation, but she only strokes her owl shooing away my Pleiade. I don't know what to do to break the silence, so I clear my throat first.

"You know… you're quite amiable yourself", I hear myself say into the night. For a moment I have to fight the urge to casually put my arm over her shoulder.

* * *

**A/N: **So here it is. A New Year's gift from rareb and Rowena, with a little special feature (for us, anyway): It wasn't written via ICQ, like the other ones, but - yes, we were surprised that we both existed ourselves - in a real life conversation at my place. Personally I think that's a very nice way to start the new year. Oh, and rareb says she agrees. Anyway... we came up with some great ideas for future chapters. So fear us and the plottbunnies, oh readers and characters! 


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

"_I can't go no place  
With somebody pointing a finger  
Can't show my face_  
'_Cause when it comes to rumours  
I'm a dead ringer  
It seems some rumours  
I just can't get away."_

_Backstreet Boys, "Rumors"_

* * *

_Orion:_

Haven't I told you? – That's what I'm going to tell Lavinia, straight when I come home. I would have preferred to be wrong for once about this, but it was as I had predicted: Miss Carrow is still after me – and she has apparently seen us in Muggle-London.

I open the door and say "Hi there" as usual.

No reply.

She has either seen the article already or she isn't here. I don't like both options and start looking for her in the apartment. It's the later then. A strange feeling – being in here without her. We've been sharing an apartment for almost a month – but it still feels like I'm her guest rather than her flatmate.

I could go out to Norfolk and come back later, of course. But I'm definitely not in the mood for more empty rooms. When I enter her living room, my gaze wanders over to the fireplace and the framed picture on the mantelpiece. It has a black ribbon around it. Before I can help it, I'm standing there, taking the picture in my hands and sitting down.

So this has been her husband. Of course I remember him from Hogwarts. The Muggle-farmer, as I used to call him rather disrespectfully. Now he's the person who had died in my place. Or so it seems to me.

It suddenly almost hits me physically: Lavinia has been married as well. It's not that I hadn't known, I mean, it was me who had asked her the question about her dead husband in that stupid interview… but I never… I mean… she's a widow. She has lost her husband. That wicked Miss Carrow had reminded me in her newest attack: _his new line of victims must be unsuspecting widows of war-heroes. People no one dares to exploit but someone as ruthless as him._

I glance at the smiling and waving person in the picture in front of me. Miss Carrow is twisting the facts to make me appear like an absolutely despicable person – but in the end… wasn't it ruthless of me already to… well, intrude here?

To be honest… I've never really cared about what had happened to Lavinia the last ten years. I just came here because… I don't know… because I had no other place to go, I suppose.

It's not just that the smiling guy in the picture had died for something I had done – saving Lavinia in the forest back in our sixth year at Hogwarts. It hadn't been in the heroic stories of his death – he had fought against one of the last remaining Death Eaters, Charles Avery and managed to take him with him into the grave, thus scattering the losing organisation even more. Charles Avery had been one of the cruellest and most feared Death Eaters – and he had already attempted an indirect murder on Lavinia when he had been but thirteen years old.

I have never found out why he had attacked her – but I knew that the life of the person who had helped her that night was in danger. And I had been right – the death of Tony McNeil was enough proof. I know that Avery wouldn't let the matter rest until he had his revenge. And after the Gryffindor McNeil had associated with Lavinia in public, it had been evident to the Death Eater that he had been the mysterious helper in the forest. But it hadn't been him. It had been me.

Still, they had been married. Where did that rush of guilt come from? Why should I feel guilty about it… I haven't murdered him… still, this apartment would look different if Avery had known… Luckily, this depressing line of thought is interrupted by the door. I rush to the mantelpiece to put the picture back in place. What did I think? I shake off those thoughts and remember what I wanted to tell her before I got distracted. I'm even more determined now than I had been before. Unfortunately there's nothing better to cover a feeling of guilt than anger.

I pick up the latest issue of Witch Weekly again and practically storm out into the corridor.

"Look at this! Haven't I told you? Have I?" I throw the magazine on the small table beside the entrance and watch her provocatively.

* * *

_Lavinia:_

Merlin, what a strange day it's been. I mean, up to the game – this time one for the Magpies, not the National Team – everything was business as usual. Coach was yelling at us and telling us that if we didn't win this one, we'd all be sacked for being responsible of the Club's ruin, and nobody was really paying attention to him because he's doing that before _every_ game. But then we walked out onto the pitch, and people starting to boo and whistle and stuff, and again and again during the whole game I caught fragments of shouted sentences like "bloody whore", "traitor" and the like. I didn't really give attention to any of that, and I even managed to make a passable game, actually helping to win the game, but something still was… off.

Now I just hope that Orion hasn't gone off to start a fight with some other guy from School again or something like that, because I just want to have a nice dinner and maybe a nice banter in front of the fireplace. And maybe the opportunity to ask him what his strange admission on the roof yesterday had been about.

But before I even get to close the door behind me, a very irate Orion comes charging out of the living room fawning around some magazine or the other and yelling at me. Huh? I'm totally baffled. So baffled that at first I don't even understand what he's so mad about. But then he just shoves the magazine in my hand, and I start reading the page he has opened:

_**A different kind of consolation**_

_Yesterday, Daily Prophet's associate-editor-in-chief Orion Yaxley has been seen again with a woman he is not married t__o. An article by Lucinda Carrow.._

_Wizarding D-Day always forces your normal editor of the Daily Prophet to do a lot of overtime. But this obviously doesn't count for purebloods anymore. While his colleagues were busy covering all the official and unofficial celebrations, associate-editor-in-chief Orion Yaxley took the day off. And not just that: Mr. Yaxley has been seen shopping in central Muggle-London instead of honouring the fallen of the last terrible war._

"_He told me not to expect him in before midnight because of the important festivities he has to attend to", his wife Bryony Maycroft-Yaxley told Witch Weekly when we confronted her with the pictures. This incident isn't the first sign of trouble in their marriage: Nearly a moth ago, Yaxley had been photographed over a romantic evening he had spent with his former classmate Linda Emerson in a village pub on the Irish countryside while he was supposed to interview retired ministry-legend Rupert 0'Millian._

_But the rather well-known fiction-writer Emerson isn't the only former classmate Mister Yaxley has been meeting these days. On his unusual shopping-trip he was accompanied by none other than Quidditch-international Lavinia McNeil, widow of one of the last heroes the war had produced. Instead of honouring her late husband's service to the community along with everyone else, she preferred to have private dinner with Orion Yaxley in a secluded Pizzeria near Notting Hill Gate. The owner, Marco, an unsuspecting Muggle, didn't hide his aversion against the date of his regular customer McNeil. "I don't know what 'Vinia thinks he has other men don't. Apart from money, of course", the agitated Italian told our reporter, along with many well-placed Italian swear-words. _

_The associate-editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet and owner of a large inherited estate in Norfolk appears to have considerably and deliberately over-tipped the Italian innkeeper. "An insult! It was an insult!" the Muggle commented furiously. Mrs. McNeil on the other hand must have been impressed by this showing-off, as she accompanied Yaxley the rest of the day._

_Society insiders are still debating over this strange behaviour. "I suppose she hasn't been following the press for years. I wouldn't wonder if she didn't even know he's married", replied an anonymous observer of the Quidditch-scene to our enquiry. McNeil is known to be an extremely dogged worker – recently, she had surprisingly increased her training efforts even more. "The latest revelations about his hidden excessive social-life have forced Mr. Yaxley to change his strategy", another insider comments, "his new line of victims must be unsuspecting widows of war-heroes. People no one dares to exploit but someone as ruthless as him." The question that remained unanswered up to now is why an independent, successful woman like Mrs. McNeil would fall for him. "I wouldn't exclude that magic has been involved", a St.-Mungos-expert confirmed us. _

Now I'm just… I don't know what to say. As if being on autopilot my eyes sweep over the several photos Carrow has included, and I can't really quite grasp what they are showing. There's even one with me and Orion kissing, and we definitely didn't do _that_. I look up again, right into his very irritated face.

"I told you she's after me", he says, and throws me one of those incredibly aloof "I told you so"-looks he already threw around while we both worked for the School newspaper in our Fifth Year.

In the past, I usually chose to keep quiet whenever he did that, but I'm older now, and I quite surely don't need any condescending males looking at me like that. I get into defiant-mode. "Oh, so it's all about you again?"

He gets defiant himself and folds his arms in front of his chest, saying: "If it makes you feel better: It's obviously as much about you as it is about me now. Wait until she finds out I'm living here. And I assure you she will... sooner or later."

While I finally get around removing my shoes and my coat, I answer: "Do you really think I haven't put up wards around this house? Merlin, I _did_ have to fend off the occasional obsessive fan before."

Okay, now he's getting worked up again, as he starts to rant: "Have you ever read Witch Weekly before? As if something like that could actually stop Miss Carrow. This woman is unscrupulous and evil, she usually gets what she wants. She's infamous for that!" _Yeah, so?_, I think, but don't interrupt him when he shortly stops, because it looks like he's trying to calm himself down. Well, we really don't want you to lose decorum, now would we? "But I tell you this: I've already started researching, and I'll find _her_ dirty laundry..."

"Yeah, because behaving as bad as your adversary is just so mature.", I can't hold back myself saying, and instantly regret it. Mr Yaxley is already about to lose decorum again.

"What do you suggest, hm? That I just let those things happen? Honestly, you've been in the Quidditch-business for... how long now? It doesn't make any sense to go out and deny everything. People won't believe me. The only way to fight back is to attack her where it hurts. Got it?" Yep, definitely losing decorum. Even resorting back to yelling now. But I've been yelled at enough for today.

Standing as upright as I can, I say as dignified as possible: "Fine. Go on that ridiculous campaign of vengeance if you want to, but leave _me_ out of it. Because _I_ don't care about what some strange people think of me", okay, that's not completely truthful, but that's not the point here, anyway, "and my friends and family know not to believe such nons…" Before I can finish my little speech, suddenly something in the living room crashs. Both Orion and I whip around and run into the living room. There the remainders of my window lie on the floor and my mother's owl Hippocrates is sitting on the floor a little dazzled. Beside him lies a letter in a red envelope. Uh-oh.

I look at Orion, and he just gives me a meaningful glance. Oh well, go in and win, right? Patting Hippocrates on the head and making a mental note to repair the window and heal him later, I pick up the letter and open it cautiously. Instantly my mother's voice is screeching through the room: "LAVINIA MCBEAN! HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO YOUR FAMILY? DON'T YOU HAVE ANY DIGNITY ANYMORE? I EXPECT AN ANSWER _AT ONCE_!" Mh. Yes, I think I might be deaf now.

And from the look of it, Orion as well. When I look at him again, he just shrugs and says: "I guess you better answer..." Yeah, thanks for being supportive. Before I can answer anything, though, another owl sweeps in, delivering a stack of letters. All in red and all addressed to me. Bloody fuck. Bloody, bloody, bloody fuck. And yes, there's a third owl. With red letters.

Merlin. What the hell am I to do? Oh well, maybe a Silencing Charm would be in order. I really don't need nosy neighbours added to the mix now. And I suddenly feel incredibly tired. With what seems the last of my energy, I heal poor Hippocrates and send him back to my mother. Without an answer. I'll deal with that tomorrow. Then I put a Silencing Charm on all the letters lying on the floor and repair the window, making it temporarily unbreakable.

I turn back to Orion. "You know what? This is getting us nowhere. I'll go to bed now. Good night." Mh. That came out a little glib. But I'm past caring about that. By now both coaches and teams should know about the article, and I'm sure they'll give me hell for that. And I don't even want to think about what it means for Orion and his work. I just want to go to sleep and wake up in about 50 years when this will hopefully be long forgotten.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh, and here we are again. We're fast, aren't we? Yes, yes, thank you for the applause. You make us blush. Anyway, now what's really important: The wonderfully mean Witch Weekly article was written by rareb, because no one does Miss Carrow's style better than her (errr, well, the fact that she invented Lucy in the first place is helping, too). Bow to her. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

"_Am I alive, am I dead  
Something turns in my brain  
Is it the end or beginning  
I've lost my path"_

_Alastis, "End or Beginning?"_

* * *

_Orion:_

The next morning, I wake up even earlier than I'm used to. I decide to get up and go out to Norfolk. As much as I hated the loneliness last time I went there, it had still been my last resort, something like an oasis of peace. If I go there now, I'll be on my own and have time to think about the whole mess I'm in. That's exactly what I need after what has happened yesterday. Not even Miss Carrow could reach me there, the centuries old protection against unwanted intruders is too strong.

On my way out I pass the door to Lavinia's bedroom. She hasn't entirely closed her door. I can't help it and glance through the small opening. She appears to be sleeping soundly, almost peacefully, like nothing had happened at all. For a moment I feel as if I'd like to open the door and sit on her bedside until she wakes up, just to be near her. I feel like an intruder once more and decide to leave quickly instead.

Shortly after I've left the apartment I apparate in front of my manor house well outside the town of Cromer. I take a deep breath of the cold breeze blowing from the seaside. It suddenly smells like a quiet piece of freedom to me. Nobody comes out here at this time in the morning, not only because nobody has access to this place except those my family grants access.

I hesitate, then summon up my house-elf and tell him to prepare breakfast for me in an hour, at least I can do that here without a furious outburst of Lavinias – and I forbid him to ask any questions. I remain silent for a moment, contemplating the spot where it had just disapparated in front of me. So, that's done. After a short reflection I decide to take the shortcut to the seaside – it's a small path, more like a soft imprint in the meadow. I've made that one myself when I was younger and hated to take the longer and broader road to the beach. My parents probably never knew it existed… it feels weird to walk this path I tried to conceal for so long – and now there's nobody around to bother anymore. I'm the only remaining member of my family and the tenants aren't allowed to enter this area of the estate anyway.

With the first steps I almost forget about all my troubles. They seem so unreal out here. When I reach the beach, I can see a red glow over the sea at the horizon; the first herald of sunrise. I sigh. When I had been on holidays from Hogwarts - it's so long ago it feels like a different life - I often came here in the morning to watch the sun rise; not least because it was a good way to escape the strict rule of my father.

I walk along the dunes on the seaside while the morning begins to dawn around me. Slowly, everything I wanted to think over comes back, one problem after the other. It's dangerous to stay living at Lavinia's place; that's the first thing that comes to my mind. Miss Carrow will find out about it – and then we'd be in real trouble.

It had shocked me how unsuspecting Lavinia had been. And it had probably been unfair on my part to rub my fingers in that instead of helping her. I mean… we're in this together; I don't suppose we'll get any support from the outside. And the worst thing is… it's my fault she's even in this mess. Carrow is after me, it's my wife who threw me out and now everyone – every woman at least – who dares keep in contact with me is a possible target. I have to take the responsibility for that.

The sun has already reached the horizon when I sit down on a stone to watch it rise entirely. _I have to move out_, it crosses my mind. After all, she has helped me out – it's a poor repayment if I let her life get out of line because of me. We can get back in contact when I'm through with Miss Carrow… and with my wife, while we're at it. It's impossible to rebuild a friendship under the present circumstances. All I'm doing is putting her under a lot of pressure – you could almost call it torture, and I can't do anything about it before I haven't sorted it all out.

When I arrive back at the manor and get my breakfast, my resolution is made: I'll move back here and leave Lavinia alone. It's better for everyone. The first thing I do is sending an owl to my boss that I take the day off. And after breakfast I'll go back to Lavinia's place to get my stuff. The manor feels lonelier than ever.

* * *

_Lavinia:_

It's a little strange. Sitting on the roof after Wizarding D-Day again, I mean. Up to that evening, the roof had been completely mine, but then I invited Orion up here, and everything… _changed_. It's like there's a second presence here and… Merlin, McNeil, when was it you started sprouting nonsense like that? Oh yeah, since Lucinda Carrow happened on your secluded little life.

Just for once I decided to abstain from spells protecting me from the weather, and cold November wind ruffles my hair and cuts into every inch of exposed skin. But I feel like I need that today. Down in my apartment, a few exploded Howlers have blackened the floor beneath them and somehow there's just general chaos. At least I managed to put up wards strong enough to hold the other angry letters and Howlers at bay and keep them away from me. It's already thinning, though, and I know that I can only call in sick for a day. Eventually I will have to face the wrath of both my coaches and my team mates. Just not today.

I burry my head in the arms that cover my knees and force myself not to start crying. Ever since I'm through the official mourning period, I never cried again. I just hadn't left any tears. And compared to what happened back then, this is a genuine piece of cake. I mean, hey, it's just uber-gossip/slut Lucinda Carrow chasing Orion and me getting caught in the hunt, so what's there to cry over? It's not like anyone died.

And besides: She's right. I _should_ have mourned for Tony. I _should_ have honoured all those who died in the war to save my sorry Quidditch hide. Except I… I'm slowly getting fed up with it. It's not like I want to forget Tony or anything – Merlin, I still think of him every day, in one way or another, and I feel like this will always be the case – but I just… I'm tired of ever so often feeling like some empty shell, with the content being lost in the past somewhere on the way.

Those last days with Orion… they gave me something to think about apart from Quidditch and being a widow. Even though he's still insufferable and egoistical and a whimp, he turned my life upside down and gave me a reason to come home again other than that I hadn't had really anything else to go to. I could have moved in again with my parents after Tony died, but I just felt like that would have been a huge setback for me. I'd been independent for some time when it had happened, and I _needed_ to have my own place. Still, I'd been alone there. And then along came Orion and everything somehow changed. For a short time I actually thought I could have something like a life again.

I should have known better. And I should have listened to him. Just for once I should have listened to him. But then again… the day in Muggle London had been fun, and more than I let myself admit. I hadn't felt as carefree as then for quite a long time, and that had been Orion's merit as well. Still… it was my fault Carrow could track him down and write that nonsense, and it's my fault I got caught in the crossfire as well.

I wish he hadn't left so early, because I think he deserves an apology. But quite honestly: I think he won't let me apologise. I know he was at my door when he left this morning, because I'd only pretended to be asleep. Part of me had actually hoped he might get nosy enough and open the door, so I could at least pretend to get up a little sleepy and ask him what this was about. But either his stupid sense of chivalry prevented him from entering or he was still furious. Personally I believe it was the latter.

Which brings me to a burning question: How will this all continue? I take it he really doesn't want to be seen with me again, much less wanting it to become public knowledge that he's _living_ here, so he'll want to move out of here as soon as possible. I guess it's for the best of both of us but… I'm going to miss him. Now there are tears pricking in my eyes, and I try to convince myself that they're a result of the wind up here. Stupid Slytherin-prick, making me cry. Indeed, better for both of us. I might start developing disturbing feelings if this was to be continued. Which it won't be.

With something close to resolve in my heart I decide to get up and clean up the mess in my apartment when I suddenly hear something rumble beneath my feet and suddenly a very familiar head is poking through the hatch.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh well. A more thoughtful chapter this time, but we felt it was time for again. We hope we made clear a few things about Orion and Lavinia or at least gave their personalities a little more depth. Do tell us if we succeeded. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

"_But in need of some repair  
Hold on to the basics  
But we can't change all our tactics  
theres no point sitting  
Going crazy on your own  
It's the only way of getting out of here  
and It's the only way of getting out of here"_

_Kaiser Chiefs, "Modern Way"_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

If I had been in a better condition, I'd have drawled something like "Well, if that isn't Mr "I love shouting people to pieces" Yaxley coming back to the scene of crime.", but as it is, I only look at him like a deer caught in headlines and then turn around to face the city again with a start. McNeil, once upon a time you used to be eloquent. Right now I have no idea when that was, but I'm absolutely sure that I was.

Anyway, even without looking I can hear Orion's cautious and clumsy steps as he comes stumbling toward me. What in the world possessed him of all people to come up here again, if vertigo seems to be one of his chief problems? I'm dying to ask, but I feel like I'd better shut up, at least for a while.

He sits down beside me, but still doesn't say anything. Mh. I think I'll still stay quiet. I'm not in the mood for talking, anyway. I want to sit here, watch the city – and the masses of owls bouncing against my anti-Howler-ward – and try not to think too much distressing thoughts.

A little suspicious I eye him. Still not saying anything. Did someone put a Silencing spell on him? Because, the Orion I know really doesn't like silence between two people, and he always succumbs and is the first one to break it. Who would have thought that someday he would maybe learn to appreciate a comfortable silence. Then, on second thought… I really think it was a Silencing Charm.

After a few more minutes of ongoing silence I'm just an inch away from checking him for any spells. I mean… this is really not like him. Why did he scamper up here? Surely not to sit here and be quiet. This is Orion, and he just _has_ to be here to tell me all about moving out and it being better for the both of us and anything… No, I've had it now, and I burst out: "Oh, come on, just _say_ it!"

Exasperated, I look at him, waiting for the inevitable, but he just looks at me a little bewildered and says: "Say what?"

Oh. I'm so caught by surprise that I can just sputter some nonsense like: "That… that… oh, you know what!" and throw my arms up for good measure.

"I-... Listen..." – here comes a break, and I'm not sure if it isn't a rhetorical one – "I'm sorry I had been so smug yesterday. This story is not your fault, we should work against Miss Carrow, you know... not each other." I'm taken even further aback, for a moment all I can do is stare open mouthed at him. Then I realise that this must look absolutely stupid, so I shut my mouth again.

After a few more seconds I needed to gather my wits, I say: "Work against… _Lucinda Carrow_? How… is that supposed to work?" Then I notice something fundamentally important, and clear my throat. A lot more subdued than I intended, I say: "And… thank you for the apology, though it was unnecessary, I really appreciate it." Do not add "I know what a big step that must have been for you, dear." now, or you will sound like your great-aunt Victoria.

* * *

_Orion:_

"What do you mean, unnecessary?" I'm confused. I thought she would be angry with me after what I've done yesterday. I would have been if she had been so smug with me.

Her answer surprises me: "Because... you were right. I should have listened to you. It _wa_s my fault." Doesn't she see that this isn't the point? I want to start explaining but apparently she prefers to be pouting. "There. You happy now?"

This is complicating matters. Probably I would be happy if this situation wasn't so serious. Lavinia isn't the kind of person easily admitting she had been wrong – and I'm wondering what had happened to me that I'm not enjoying it more. How many times had those women told me to do something right, just for once? But it's completely off the point…

"As a matter of fact…", I start and watch her showing just a small hint of frustration. I grin, because for once she doesn't seem to understand what I'm up to. When I realise that she looks also a bit crestfallen I get serious again.

"I'm not." I turn to her. She's surprised. Actually surprised…

"You're not? But I thought..."

I slowly shake my head, before I look at her again. "At first I came back here to tell you it would be better for me to move out..." she's exhaling in resignation. So I guess she had come to the same conclusion. "But", I can't possibly leave out such an opportunity for a dramatic pause. Now, who's looking hopeful all of a sudden? "You weren't there", I end the sentence.

Before she can get really nervous again, I continue my explanation. After all, this is quite important… I don't want to mess it up. "Luckily I didn't find you right away, because I came to realise something…" I look at her intensely. "If I move out just because of some stupid article – when I don't have any other reason to leave… we let Miss Carrow dictate our lives. – If we let her spoil everything, she wins-" and as an afterthought I add: "and my wife wins."

My words linger over the rooftop for a moment. I can't read her expression at all. I'm freezing in the icy-cold wind without my cloak, but strangely it doesn't bother me as much as it should. Why hasn't she put up charms against it? For a moment I ask myself if the roof is safe… she surely wouldn't have let me climb up here if it hadn't been safe today.

Suddenly, she says: "…and your wife", quietly… almost like she was disappointed of something. I don't understand what could be wrong with that.

"Yes?" I try.

She isn't answering right away. It's my turn to get nervous, because she's trying several times without actually saying something. It must be something serious, then. But what? Is she about to tell me that I've messed up things again. Now? – Now that I'm finally sure to do the right thing about something?

I've already started pondering, when she finally speaks awkwardly: "You know... this sounds like you're just staying out of some... some twisted sense of defiance and revenge."

_What?_It's my turn to stare at her. I honestly haven't even thought of such a thing. If revenge was all I wanted… I would have found other ways, wouldn't I? I need some time to get back my bearing. Whoever said women were easy to understand… he's wrong.

"It wasn't supposed to… sound like that", I take up her thread. "I'm just sick of letting other people ruin my life. This day in London, it had been enjoyable, hadn't it? You could even say it had been almost perfect - considering the circumstances… why the heck should we fight over it as if it had been a mistake, if the only thing that's wrong about it is the intrigue of that horrid reporter… and the behaviour of my wife", when did I start getting agitated so easily? I pause again. "But if you prefer to think the other way… I can still move out."

"No... no, I think you should stay. United we stand and all that", she replies, smiling.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh well. Blame the delay on me, please. And where are our reviews? We miss those so very, very much... :( 


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen**

"_I'll give my life a different way  
Refuse to let myself become a victim  
Getting caught in a vicious web of lies, they can hurt you  
And destroy you, you watch out for lies, just a devil in disguise."_

_En Vogue, "Lies"_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

Lavinia McNeil, you are just stupid. Sitting on the roof in the cold November wind was _not_ one of your best ideas. If you hadn't been in such a weird mood you wouldn't have had to swaddle yourself in two blankets now, and you wouldn't be sniffing and occasionally sneezing either. On the other hand… a nice thorough cold would maybe spare me at least one day of having to face the Magpies or the National team.

Anyway, Orion's driving me a little crazy at the moment. While I'm sitting on the couch with said two blankets and a cup of tea, he's pacing up and down in front of the flickering fire. And he's been doing this for nearly ten minutes now, seeming to be full of nervous energy and full of beans. I sigh and finally say: "Stop doing that and sit down for Merlin's sake. You're really starting to make me dizzy."

At first… well… _nothing_ happens. He just keeps pacing. Even when I sneeze _another_ time he doesn't stop. In fact he doesn't even look at me. Orion Yaxley, you can be such a prick. "Uh… hello! I just said: _Sit bloody down_." Okay, so the effect would have been a little more menacing if my throat wasn't as sore as it seems to be now but at least he looks up, a little startled. As if he just now realized that I'm still in the room.

"I… can't.", he just says and trains his gaze on the floor again, mumbling some incoherent thing or the other. Oh great. Just bloody marvelous.

"Alright, so try a little multitasking for a change, won't you? I mean… what the _hell_ are you doing?" Now he does stop. _Finally_.

"Oh please... I'm trying to work here." Oh. Of course. That explains everything. Uh-huh.

"Alright… did you come up with anything yet?" I bet he's going to get all snarky and sarcastic again now. Or maybe let the hurt male ego shine through again, because that's what he usually does when _I_ get snarky and sarcastic. But really… can't he just stop acting like I'm not even in the room?

"What protection charms are on this house?" What the… He didn't really just ask me that, right? He didn't really just ignore my question – and the tone that accompanied it – right? Please tell me he didn't.

"Orion… I just asked you a question. Responding to a question with another question is bad manners, you know. You _do_ know that it's bad manners, right?" And if this statement wouldn't have been accompanied with another sneeze, _maybe_ it could have sounded intimidating.

He stops walking again and turns to me, looking righteously huffed. It _does_ look a little adorable, granted. "Excuse me. I'm trying to protect us here. You're not exactly helpful if you keep interrupting me."

Oh. Oooh. So now it's _us_ instead of _me_? Did it really happen? Has Orion Yaxley finally learned that not everything is about him, and him alone? I do think that merits _some_ cooperation from my side. Well, apart from the fact, that I'm already in this, the full monty and all.

"Uh… sorry. But… try to be a little less… try to calm down. Please?" I can see that he's about to something idiotic and not helpful, but amazingly he catches himself in time and just takes a deep breath.

"Look, we have to make sure nobody – and I mean _absolutely_ nobody – can get in here without us knowing. Furthermore, we have to be careful whom we trust, right?" I hesitate. This sounds more and more like some cheap espionage thriller, and I'm tempted to prompt another sarcastic remark, but if he can reign in his Slytheriness I can be a good little Hufflepuff.

"Alright, yes, we do. But… you don't really think your or my friends would betray us or anything… right?" He just raises his eyebrow in his very own way, and it conveys practically everything he has to say about this. But out of some reason I want him to actually _say_ it. "Oh come on… don't give me that bloody "Trust no one."-crap. Didn't even work in the X-Files." Oops. No more muggle pop culture allusions for you, young lady.

But he doesn't even comment on the X-Files thing, and that irritates me a little. Instead he says: "Was it your wife or mine that had lead a double life?"

_Oh_. Just had to put your foot in that, didn't you, McNeil? Way to go, really. Now hope he won't hold your thoughtlessness against you forever. "I… alright, I see your point. Now… what was your first question?"

* * *

_Orion:_

"What protection charms are on this house?" I ask again. I should have gone to my room. First thing in a good plan is knowledge; everything of importance. The more you know about the situation, the better the plan will be. That's what I'm doing here. Thinking everything through, finding the missing parameters. But obviously, Lavinia doesn't know anything about planning. Trust a Hufflepuff on that matter! Only Slytherins fully appreciate the beauty of a good plan. And we're fighting against a fellow Slytherin, after all; one who certainly hadn't done anything to better the reputation of our house in general.

"There are..." she starts. Finally we're getting somewhere. "Well, those I placed like making it impossible to apparate into the appartment and those things holding off all those owls with the Howlers..." I'm just about to think that this isn't exactly much of a protection against someone like Carrow, when she suddenly starts stammering "but... I don't know much about those... not placed by me."

"What do you mean, not placed by you? Who would place charms on that house? I thought we're the only wizards..." I stop talking abruptly. She's avoiding my gaze. Something's wrong. But what the hell...? It was an absolutely harmless question, wasn't it? Silence. Have I mentioned that I hate awkward silence?

What should I do now? She seems to be very interested in a loose thread in the carpet. I'm still trying to figure out what to say to break the silence, when she suddenly starts whispering almost soundlessly. "Tony... they were placed by... Tony."

Shit! I totally forgot about her husband. How should I have thought about that? We have the worst hyena in business on our trail... still. I feel guilty and I suppose you can see it. If I didn't know what to say before, I'm absolutely speechless now. I cough, to give me some time and clear my throat; just to make sure. "I'm... sorry. I... should have remembered... I…" Great. Now, I'm the one who's stammering and staring at the thread in the carpet.

"Oh no, it's okay. I mean... it's been five years, right?" she's telling me, smiling weakly. I'm puzzled. It hadn't sounded like it had been okay. Even I can see that. But what should I do about it. Suddenly, the problem with Carrow seems far away.

"Sure?" I ask. If she wants to talk about it, that's her chance. If not... we've got a plan to make. I suddenly don't know which option I'd prefer.

"Look... Orion... for now it's okay. Really. We've got... other issues right now." That's an answer we can work with! I've got to restrain myself not to sigh of relieve. Instead, I only straighten my shoulders and start pacing again.

"Okay", I'm all business again. "Can you remember what protection he's put on the house? Are all other inhabitants Muggles? Are there other people who have full access?"

"No, I can't remember that", she doesn't exactly sound like everything is alright. But she's had her chance. So, I'm more interested in her information. "He... never told me about that. I only know I didn't see any Death Eaters here, not one." As if that would be any protection against Carrow. I don't suppose she's working with the same methods. Now, that's a thing to find out. I make a mental note while Lavinia continues answering my questions. "The... yeah, the other people here are Muggles, and I have no idea who has full access and who doesn't. I don't... I don't even know most of them."

"Oh, I haven't been precise enough... I meant. Are there people who do have full access to this apartment. Like, family, friends? People who could, consciously or unconsciously, let her in? You realize that granting our privacy in here is absolutely primordial." If only I had been better at Defense Against the Dark Arts. Maybe I could uncover his protections. Somehow, I don't like the idea of living in an apartment that's protected through charms by her dead husband.

"Oh no. No one's got access here. Not even Mum or anyone else of the family has a spare key." That's more like it. She's almost back to normal. I sigh. "That's excellent news." It slipped out. It wasn't supposed to sound so... relieved. "When we can sort the thing out with the protecting charms, I assume we're safe here. As for outside..." I pause barely for dramatic reasons. You have to know your suspense. "The most important thing is not to comment on her rumors in _any_ way."

"Orion... you do know that as a member of the Quidditch National Team I'm used to exposure to the press, right?" I roll my eyes.

"Of course", it sounded a little patronizing, even to me. But you can't be sure with those things. "They'll all try to get a statement."

"Hey, I bloody know that. That's not the first misstep I allowed myself, okay? I know how to deal with them. But it's very touching that you try to advise me anyway." Uhhh! Who's getting all worked up now?

"I only had our best interest in mind. I'm sure you understand that." I'm about to get sarcastic again. "What missteps?" The question is out before I realize it. It's scary when your job's starting to do itself without your consent. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate."

To my surprise, she's smiling openly now. "Try to keep your mind on the task at hand. And yes, I understand that you're not doing this to harrass me. But you really don't have to interrogate me, you know." I'm a bit taken aback by this and only smile back. I'm positive that we'll get ourselves out of this mess.

"I'm retiring to my room now if you don't mind", I say and turn to the door. I suddenly can't bear it anymore. We've sorted out the main details anyway. Carrow is still on my trail and I'm still exposing Lavinia to potential crossfire. But I have to admit that it's a lot more comforting than I'd thought, to know that I'm not alone in Norfolk. I turn on my heels. "Lavinia..." just before I'm about to tell her all that, I'm thinking better of it. "Never mind."

* * *

**A/N: **Yay! We're back! After quite some time of considering on rareb's side we finally decided to continue writing, and we don't regret it. We hope that those who have been regular readers have not completely forgotten us and will continue reading it, now that we're back. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen**

"_Baby I'm caught, I'm captured  
You locked me up and tied me down  
Baby I'm caught in the rapture  
You hold the only key"_

_The Nylons, "Caught"_

_Orion:_

"Dammit!" Why, it can't be that difficult detecting protecting charms, can it? I'm standing in the middle of the living room and have just managed to avoid another falling piece of ceiling. Remember: never use magic blindly. Not even when you're positive you know what you're doing. At least I've been partly successful. Half an hour ago, I managed to neutralize one spell. Although I'm not sure what it had protected the house against.

I've left work early today. Since Lavinia has told me about Tony's protecting charms, I don't feel entirely comfortable in this place anymore. Who knows what spells that could be? In the end, they'll unknowingly affect me.

But that's not all. I hate the feeling that her late husband is so... present. I can live with the pictures on the mantelpiece and all that, but... those charms, it's too much. It's like a part of him is still around somewhere. We can't have that. Not when I've decided to move in for a longer period.

I straighten my shoulders and raise my wand again. Concentrate, Yaxley, concentrate.

Suddenly, several things happen simultaneously. WHOOM! There's a deafening bang. The house starts trembling. I scream and fall to the ground. It feels like there's something falling from the ceiling, but I can't see anything. Both owls start fluttering around nervously. Lavinia's April nearly crashes into my head. Then, suddenly...

Silence.

Utter, total silence. But the owls are still circulation and seemingly screeching wildly. I just can't hear them anymore. A rush of panic starts mounting inside me, but I'm able to stop it before it gets to me. Calm down, now. Calm down. Think.

I try to get up again and bang my head against an invisible wall. "OUCH", I scream. When the pain fades, I realize that I could hear myself scream. "Hello?" I say. It's definitely audible. So, I'm in some kind of invisible bell jar or something. I feel around me. The walls of my cage are alarmingly close. I won't be able to get up.

After a little consideration, I try poking my wand against the invisible walls. Nothing. They're hard and solid. Damnit! I can't make them disappear with a spell, even if I found the right incantation. I'm lying on the floor and have hardly any space to move at all. It would be too dangerous to try anything.

My plan had been to remove the protection charms without Lavinia knowing and replace them with my own. Now, my only hope is that she'll know how to remove that invisible bell jar. I've been such an idiot. Why did I even try to do that? He had fought against Death Eaters, of course he would know more protective magic then me.

But he had been a mere Muggleborn! How can someone like that outperform someone like me, who has had magic in his blood for generations? Don't get me wrong. I've never sympathized with Death Eaters. They were a disgrace for all our tradition stands for. They've been using the wrong means to achieve the wrong goals. And they've killed my parents because they refused to join.

That doesn't make me a Muggle-loving fool, though. In my opinion, the two worlds should be as strictly separated as possible; for our own good as much as theirs. I've doubted those ideals on occasion, particularly after the death of my parents, but I don't know what could replace them.

In fact, it had been Lavinia who had made me doubt recently. She's living around Muggles like they're normal and she's moving around their world without the slightest difficulty. I felt handicapped when we had been in Muggle London. But it had been a good day despite everything. It had been relaxed, but challenging. It was new, it was exciting... I've never wished to know more about Muggles before that day.

Why am I pondering Muggles anyway? I'm trapped here by a dead man's trap! How can it get more embarrassing! Why did she ever get married, anyway? Marriage is just an unnecessary burden and I'm convinced you live better without it. At least, her husband only died and didn't cheat on her as well, like my wife.

I haven't spoken to Bryony in over a month. All I've heard from her was in Carrow's articles. I suspect that they've made this plan together. I wish I knew why she's doing all this. What goal does she try to reach? If she's just after the money, she could have laid her hands on it in much easier ways.

Suddenly, I realize that someone is standing over me. In the twilight I almost didn't recognize her. Lavinia has come home. And as far as I can tell she's not looking happy.

* * *

_Lavinia:_

Whoa. What a day. For the looks Coach threw me alone I was ready to throttle Miss Lucinda Carrow on the very next occasion I'd see her. But well, I knew that would come, and I'm still a little surprised that they gave me two days off to get rid of the cold I'd gotten on the roof top. Usually Coach bellows at you through the Floo network and – if need is there – forces you to drink one of our team medic's dreaded potions, but when I asked two days ago I was granted those days without a blink.

But I guess that was just to lull me in peace and give me the right welcome when I finally came back. And what a welcome that was. I told Orion I'd seriously misstepped once or twice in the past, but it hadn't _ever_ been so bad afterwards. Team mates were avoiding me, Coach was giving me hell and making me run twice as many laps as the others, I got to be signed up for broom shed duty for the whole next three weeks… Well, you get the picture. I just want a nice bath now and then curl up on the couch and do… things that aren't connected with any strenuous physical activities. Yeah, good plan.

Only thing is: Orion ruined it. _Again._ I'm not even in the flat and I can already see it, mainly because there's a piece of paper sticking to my door saying: "Hey missy, if you and your boyfriend are planning on having some walls removed let us know in advance. We just wanna know when we bloody have to leave the house because the noise is just intolerable. Your seriously rabid neighbours." Oh joy. With a sigh I open the door, a little afraid what's awaiting me.

And yes, it's a pandemonium. Or at least at first glance. Pieces from the ceiling are lying on the floor, Pleiades and April are screeching and fluttering through the room, and there on the floor a huddled figure is lying and looking up to me. Orion. I groan.

This is just… too much. I feel anger building up again, and before I can think it through the words are coming out my mouth. "What the _hell_ are you doing here? Whoever gave you the bloody idea to wreak havoc on my private property? For _years_ I've been living here and not _once_ my neighbours had _any_ reason to complain and now you live here for what? A few weeks? And already half the house hates me and the other half is most probably afraid of me. How bloody _stupid_ can just one single man be?"

I add a frustrated inarticulate sound and throw him looks like daggers. He just looks up, without saying anything, and that just adds fuel to the fire, but before I can rain another tirade down on him he feebly gestures something. Uh… what the hell is he trying to say? I stare a little more, and finally it dawns on me that he's saying he can't hear me. Bugger it, _what_ did he do to my place? For a moment I consider letting him lie there for another hour or so, but in the end my righteous anger and my curiosity win and, assuming some of his bleeding magic went wrong, I try a "_Finite incantatem._"

And lo and behold, it does work. He finally gets up, shaking his head a little, as if there was water in his ears or something. He opens his mouth to say something but I beat him to it and add another rant: "_Don't_ bloody tell me you were trying to install some dubious protection charms which backfired on you. What were you _thinking_ swishing your wand around here without even waiting until I got home? How in the name of bleeding Merlin am I going to explain all this to my… to _our_ neighbours? No one's gonna talk to m… to us, _ever_ again! We'll be lucky if they don't throw us out of here. _How_ in the name of all that's good are we _ever_ going to get rid of this damage? Really, _what_ were you thinking? Were you thinking _anything_ at _all_?" I take a short break to breathe some, and he's still standing in front of me, looking very crestfallen, and for some reason that really irks me. Hello? Lost your sting, Mr Yaxley?

He clears his throat, and I raise an eyebrow. For your sake I hope you have a _very_ good explanation for this mess, mister. "Relax. I'll take care of it." Wh… For a moment my mouth actually hangs open until I catch myself. He didn't just say that, right? He didn't just behave like some chauvinistic and condescending idiot, _not answering my question at all_, right? Please tell me he didn't.

"Uh… Orion… You… _did_ listen to me, right?" I can't help slipping into a tone you usually use when you have to explain something really simple to someone who's proving to be an idiot.

Instead of commenting on that he straightens himself up and says in a very self-assured voice: "Yes I did. And I'll clear it up. It was an accident."

B… wha… huh? Argh! "Bugger it, that's _not_ what I was bloody asking you!" _Why_ on earth doesn't he answer it? I _really_ want to know what he was doing here.

Instead of answering my sodding questions he brushes some dust from his trousers and says: "Would you mind relaxing a little? You look terrible when you're shouting like this."

I… ARGH! Relax? RELAX? He demolished half the apartment, nearly gave my owl – and his – a heart attack, alienated all our neighbours and has the gall to tell me I "look terrible when I'm shouting like this"? Really, the _nerve_ the man's got. At first I want to give him another wigging, but I finally realize that he's obviously trying to divert my attention. Alright, McNeil, one last try. If he doesn't answer you when you're asking him in a civilized way, you'll just turn him into a frog for all eternity.

I take a deep breath, calming myself and say in a very clipped and precise tone: "Orion… I've been asking you questions. And I want you to answer them because this is _my_ apartment. I have a right to know why it's looking like a bomb just exploded in it. So… _what_ exactly have you been doing to this place? And why didn't you wait with it until I was back from training?"

"Alright... I...", insert clearing his throat again here, "You were never supposed to... I... wanted to replace the protecting charms. Because..." Uh-huh- Replacing the protection charms. The ones Tony placed, because believe me: _I_ didn't place any that result in as much damage as this one did. He wanted to replace Tony's charms. _Why_? And why is he starting to stutter? Eloquent Orion used to always have some smart remark ready, in any and every situation. I raise my eyebrow again.

"Because… what?"

"They irritate me." And not looking me in the eyes. Uh… huh. They… irritate him. Just… like that. My dead husband's charms _irritate_ him so much he tries to replace them without me being in the apartment. How weird is _that_? I try to catch his eyes again, but he keeps averting them, and that bothers me. Orion isn't one to avert your eyes when he's talking to you. And he isn't one to give monosyllabic answers. Something's bothering him about these charms so much he doesn't want to talk to me about it.

Well, quite frankly: I don't think I'm in the mood for that now either. I'm tired and I'm sore and I only want to stretch my legs and forget I've got endless days of torture before me now. I sigh. "Does your offer to take care of this mess still stand?"

He brightens up again. "Naturally."

The sudden change from downcast to chipper irritates me a little, but seeing him practically getting his glow back makes me grin a little. Now not as furious as before I say: "And don't let me catch you ordering your house elf to do it."

He shows a sophisticated little half grin and answers: "I didn't even think of it… yet. Thank you for the hint."

For a moment I want to get on my little SPEW soapbox again but then I realize he just noticed which buttons to push and just wanted to tease me a little. Snorting I give him a slight thump in the arm. He gives a mock "Ouch!" and suddenly we're sharing a genuine laugh about the whole thing. So maybe at least for now everything's in the green again.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, we've been serious when saying that we want to continue this one. Don't say we didn't warn you. But we miss our regular reviewers. Okay, in fact we miss reviewers _in general._ Be nice, give us a treat. There are lots of cookies here for everyone who does! 


	19. Chapter 19

**Nineteen**

„_In diesem Mietshaus wohnen wir seit einem Jahr und sind hier wohlbekannt.  
Doch stell dir vor, was ich soeben unter uns'rer Haustür fand:  
Es ist ein Brief von unsern Nachbarn, darin steht, wir müssen raus!  
Sie meinen__, du und ich wir passen nicht in dieses ehrenwerte Haus."_

_Udo Jürgens, „Ein ehrenwertes Haus"_

* * *

_Orion:_

"Would you like a cup of tea?" The woman in front of me is smiling at me expectantly and I just can't turn it down. Not if I'm on such a mission. "If you're so kind", I reply, and the old lady opens the door a little wider to let me enter. I give her the box of assorted chocolates I've bought for all our neighbours and follow her in the living room.

It's strange; the apartment is basically exactly the same as ours – except that this one is full of tasteless furniture that is supposed to look antique. In reality, they're all just cheap copies. Anyway, I smile and sit down at the table. This is the third cup of tea I'm getting this afternoon; I hope it's the last one.

I've decided to make up for the mess I've landed us in. And while my house-elf is secretly cleaning up our apartment, I'm paying all our neighbours a visit. It proofed to be a lot trickier than I had thought. My plan had been to go and beg their pardon for the inconvenience my experiments had caused them, offer them a box of fine chocolates and be gone as soon as possible; respecting decent manners, no more, no less.

What I hadn't counted on was the fact that all of the neighbours would be so touched by this that they'd insist on inviting me for a cup of tea. Okay, tea would have been alright, but they wanted to _chat_ with me as well.

Now, I know the tragic story of a hard-working father who had lost his job two years ago and is now forced to watch over the kids while his wife is working in a suspicious place called Sainsbury's. He was the only one, who had not offered tea in the first place, but some alcoholic beverage or the other I kindly turned down. He seemed to be desperate to talk to someone. At least, he wasn't interested in me at all and didn't ask one single question.

It had been different with the second neighbour, a single woman who would have married me on the spot after I told her that I work as an editor for a newspaper. It was a tricky thing, not to give anything away – because Muggles have an awful lot of things that are completely ordinary for them but unknown to me. For instance, Miss Chambers, the single woman, asked my whether the journal I'm writing for is "on line" or not. I honestly didn't know which line she thought of but I preferred to tell her it was. Maybe Muggles don't tolerate it when their journals aren't in line with the ruling political power.

But she didn't say anything like that. She instead wanted me to give her the address and was confused when I told her some street in London – she wanted something called "Internet-Address". Well, no idea what the heck that could be. As long as she's not getting suspicious, all is well anyway.

Now, the old woman in whose apartment I'm sitting at the moment is called Mrs. Wright, and I just have to ask some polite and well placed questions to get her started. Her husband died two years ago and she wants to tell me everything about him, how she's met him, how they got married, how they lived with their two children, how they wanted to grow old together... and then he just died, heart attack. I've never heard someone talking more fondly about another person they've lived with so long.

Marriage, to me, had always been a thing associated with honour, tradition and in some cases strategy or power. In short, something that had to be planned well and lived out with certain pragmatism. Now, for this woman, it had been different. She's still mourning and remembering her husband with such a caring tone in her voice that I find myself strangely touched by it. I almost wish someone would talk about me in the same way some time when I'm gone.

Isn't it strange? When I leave the apartment of a very happy old lady who's already invited me to come for another cup of tea tomorrow or the day after ("and bring Mrs. McNeil, she always seems so busy"), I've almost forgotten that I've been talking to a Muggle. I shake my head when I climb up the last flight of stairs to our apartment

* * *

_Lavinia:_

And another training session from hell. This time with the National Team, and I'm starting to seriously wonder if I'll survive this Season or if they'll kick me out already before the finals. Really, the way they are all treating me one could think I suddenly turned into He Who Must Not Be Named or something. Merlin, people, it's just a bloody Witch Weekly Article. Didn't know so many of my team mates even read this stuff. Anyway, let's see what Orion's got in store for me today…

Wait… did I just see a house elf disapparate in my hall? Gah! I _told_ him not to let one of them do the cleaning! Why can't he, just for_once_, do what I ask of him? Why is it so hard for him just to follow my biddings? What in the name of…

"Ah, there you are. Welcome home. I've got something for you." I blink. I'm not even fully out of my coat, and Orion's already standing in the hall, a box of Honeyduke's Finest in his hand and grinning from ear to ear. What the hell is he up to?

"That's really… nice of you." And it is. I haven't had a box of the Finest for… _ages_. But still. He brought a house elf to my place. Even when I asked him not to. "But it won't make up for bringing a house elf here._Again_." I try my sternest, but after a day of hard looks, snide remarks and unfriendly shoves a smiling Orion makes it very hard to be stern.

"I'm sorry, Lavinia, honestly. I wanted to clean it up myself; really, I did. But I couldn't have foreseen that it would take me so long to talk to the neighbours." The… neighbours? Okay, Lavinia, he's a grown man, and you just _have_ to cut him some slack some time. Try to be friendly.

While I put my coat on a hanger and the bag in a corner I try not to raise my eyebrows or my voice while saying: "Why'd you talk to the neighbours?"

"You mentioned that I had brought up the neighbours against us... so, I went there to put it right, offer them some chocolate, present my excuses... they all insisted on inviting me on a cup of tea. It would have been rude to turn it down, wouldn't it?" He's still sounding kind of chipper and all positive, obviously either not catching the slightly suspicious tone of my voice or just pretending not to, and besides my interest has seriously been piqued with the line "inviting me on a cup of tea".

So I walk over to the couch with Orion in tow, plunge down on it and close my eyes for a short moment to catch my breath and calm down a little. After several weeks of living together with Orion Yaxley I should have learned to just accept that he's simply… errr…_different_. "Of course it would have been. Now, _who_ actually invited you in?"

"Lets see…" Still grinning. „Theres the guy from the first floor... hes unemployed, poor chap, and his wife has got to work in a suspicious place called Salisbury or something. Then, I met Miss Chambers on the third floor, those on the second weren't at home. She asked me weird questions about my loyalty towards the government. Her next door neighbour is Mrs. Wright, old woman. Shes a widow. Don't you know them?"

Impressive. I do think he didn't pause to catch his breath even _once_. I never thought he'd actually resort to rambling. Where's dignified stuffed-my-shirt-Orion gone? Maybe no more excursions into the Muggle world for the next ten years or something for him. "Uh, hey, slow, will you? And… come on, sit down. You're making me kind of nervous." Now he finally pauses for a moment, blinks and then sits down in the other corner of the couch. Oh well, let's see how easy he really is inside. Without saying anything I take my feet up and put them in his lap. Oops. Instantaneously his posture becomes a little more rigid. I can barely suppress a smirk.

Pretending not to notice anything, I say: "Alright. Thank you. Where were we? Oh, right… no, I don't know anyone of them. There just wasn't any… need for getting to know them."

"No need? How long have you been living here?" I already want to answer, but he beats me to it, adding after a little hesitation: "Did you have another exhausting training session today?" He looks down at my feet. Oh, I can take a hint when I see one.

"Oh… uh, yeah. But… just the usual. Some yelling, some running, some flying. Oh, and a few side glances." No need to tell him what the yelling was about or that the running was a little more than usual. "And, I've been living here for… uh… 7 years or something. Yeah, 7… years." Scenes from moving in come back. I still remember that for a few days at least this place felt like an island where we were isolated from everything having to do with war or death… okay, no dwelling on the past now.

"Sounds horrible. Why are you still doing this to yourself?" Before answering I take another deep breath, pull the rubber band from my hair and shake my head to loosen up the strands. Yes, I do this on purpose, Mr Yaxley. Come on, take your time, give me a once-over… very subtle indeed if even _I_ can see you're looking very closely. Anyway, still need to answer his question.

"Because it's the only thing I can do right." Oh, come on, don't look at me like this, you _know_ I'm right. He clears his throat a little awkwardly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I could get you a job at the Daily Prophet, they always look for good people at the sports department." Oh, do they? Funny that all the people who want to quit Quidditch and apply there that _I_ know are getting letters of refusal.

I nudge his thigh with one of my feet, I say: "Look, I know it doesn't sound like it but I _like_ being a Chaser. I _like_ physical exercise and all that stuff. Well, usually, I mean. Anyway: I appreciate your concern, and maybe I'll get back to that offer when I'm falling off the broom more often than scoring, but for the time being I'd like to stay with the teams. Really."

"Fine.", he just says, and silence falls on the room again. Just when I decide to put him out of the misery of awkward silence, he clears his throat again and says: "Uhm… by the way, Mrs. Wright from downstairs invited us for a cup of tea some time."

Oh… okay. How did he manage _that_? Oh, wait, I remember that there's an old woman living downstairs, and I bet that's Mrs Wright. And we all know that old women absolutely adore handsome polite young men like Orion. So… okay, mystery solved. "She did? Well… that's nice. We could… what about next Sunday? I could ask her tomorrow." What am I doing here? 7 years, and I didn't take interest in _any_ of my neighbours… okay, maybe mostly because most of the time I haven't even been at home.

"I thought you didn't know her?" Another pause. Well, at least the pausing means he's finally being himself again. Still… he could have taken the hint with the feet. "Sunday's fine for me." And he grins again. Looks nice, actually.

Wait. What am I doing here? The thing with the feet was teasing, because Orion sometimes is so easy to tease, but… _Looks nice, actually_? Argh. Have to stop that train of thought immediately. "Oh, I don't. But you know… I think it would be just appropriate to pay her a short visit as well, wouldn't it? So I'll ask her when I come home tomorrow."

He raises an eyebrow and says: "Maybe." Merlin, loosen up, Yaxley. If I'd known that a pair of feet in your lap could make you monosyllabic in less than a minute I'd never have put you through this torture. Well… okay, no, that's not true. I'd have done it anyway. And now that we're already into the whole thing we might as well carry on with it.

"You know, Orion, if I'm making you uncomfortable in any way, you could just say it."

Instead of the expected stiff reply he just smiles and says: "Oh, I'm not uncomfortable."

At first I'm a little surprised, but then the smile is winning me over and I feel the corners of my mouth lifting up while saying: "That's nice, because neither am I."

* * *

**A/N: **There we are again, and on New Year's Eve at that. The funny thing is: Usually rareb (she's the one writing Orion, for everyone who came new to the story in the last couple of months) lives in Switzerland while I live in Germany, and we write this via ICQ. But today she's actually here in Germany at my place and we're about to celebrate New Year's Eve together! Yay us! 

Anyway, lots of cookies (no leftovers from Christmas, but freshly made of course ;)) or maybe some Swiss chocolate to our latest reviewer, **Aster**, who obviously read all 18 chapters in a row and still likes the story ;) We... errr... hope you will still like it after chapter 20, which _may_ come tomorrow (but no promises here).

Errr... now... where was I? Oh right, the translation for that German song quote from above:

_"We've been living in this tenement for a year and we are well known around here.  
But imagine what I found just now slipped underneath our door:  
It's a letter signed by all our neighbours and it says we have to move out.  
They think that you and I, we don't belong in this well-respected house."_

_ Udo Jürgens, "A well-respected house"_

Lots of thanks to Justine who's also sitting next to me and did the translation.


	20. Chapter 20

**Twenty**

"_I've got a wicked taste for trouble  
And I'm never, never, satisfied  
Yeah I'm a whole lot of trouble, baby  
And my evil ways kill life  
Oh, my, my  
Well, I've been itching for some trouble baby  
Every single day that I'm alive."_

_Christina Aguilera, "Trouble"_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

Thank Merlin it's Sunday. Or maybe not, because that means that tomorrow begins another week of possible running the gauntlet. But before that, there's still the invitation to Mrs Wright's we have to attend to, and surprisingly I don't regret having asked. Mrs Wright turned out to be a very nice old lady who likes to share her very fond memories of her late husband. I just wonder what she would say if she knew that I'm a widow, too.

At the moment though, she's telling us what she's planned for Christmas and I realize I haven't planned _anything_ yet, even if my mum has called me repeatedly over the last few weeks to ask when I'm coming home for Christmas, seeing as this is surely a very trying time for me this year, what with the 5-year-anniversary and everyth…

"So… what have you two planned for Christmas? Is this your first Christmas together?" I blink. Huh? "Together" as in… "_together_"? What's she talking about? Surely she doesn't think we're like… a couple or something? I open my mouth to correct her and tell her we're just friends, but Orion is faster.

"No, actually, we've known each other since school." Yes, thank you for stating that, so I don't have to do it. I knew I could count on you. "But we haven't decided yet in whose family's house we'll be passing the Holidays this year." Wha…? The bloody bastard! Why in all Heavens is he doing _that_? Okay. Calm down. Probably just a non-committal answer to lead her off the track. But she might get confused, because well… she isn't the youngest anymore. I think I should better clear up the impending misunderstanding.

"Well, actually, what Orion wants to say is…" _Ouch!_ What in Merlin's name did he do _that_ for? He just stamped on my foot under the table and not lightly at that. I glare at him, hoping it's inconspicuous enough that Mrs Wright doesn't notice it.

"… I'm not sure if I've got to work this Christmas again," he finishes my sentence. Now he looks at me as well, obviously trying to tell me to play along with that, and I still have no idea _why_. What's so bad with saying we're just friends, sharing an apartment? I try to communicate that to him, even mouthing "What's going on?" to him, but he just rolls his eyes and answers with a mouthed "Later." Oookay… you better have a good explanation for all of that or you'll seriously regret making me your girlfriend, Mr "I'm married to man-eating slut Bryony Maycroft" Yaxley.

Mrs Wright, though, seems to either not notice anything of our exchange or has decided to be discrete and let the young people dissolve their differences somewhere private, because instead of commenting on it she just says: "Oh, you may have to work on Christmas? Why is that?"

Argh. He's so going to screw it all up. The way he's been talking he already kind of forgot that he's talking to a Muggle and he'll spill the beans about his job at the Prophet, spoiling the whole afternoon. Have to do something and fast. "I'm working for a newspaper. If the political climate in South America continues to deteriorate, there'll be no holidays for all of us." Oh. Okay, so_maybe_ he's_not_ going to spoil it all. Ever since he told me about his talk to Ms Chambers and I had to clear up the whole "being on line/in line"-fiasco, I'm a little anxious about Orion talking to Muggles on his own.

Mrs Wright makes a pitying sound and says in a compassionate voice: "That must be horrible for you. And for you, too, Mrs McNeil, having your partner roaming around South America during the holidays." I try to give her a look saying that it might be, but that I have to support him of course. Grah. You're going to suffer for that, Orion. She turns back to Orion then: "I hope you don't mind me asking, but I must admit that I'm terribly curious: What newspaper are you exactly working for?" Ngh, I just bet he doesn't know _any_ Muggle newspapers, and now he _is_ going to screw it all up.

Luckily, this time I'm faster than him in answering: "He's working for the Politics department of the _Guardian_, and I'm just _so_ proud of him. That's why I support him writing this feature about organized crime in South America, even if I'd rather have him here for the holidays." I give him a quick warning look to follow my lead and turn back to Mrs Wright to give her a brave smile.

She smiles back understandingly and then says: "Oh, then let's just hope the situation in South America stays stable until after Christmas. Having to pass the Holidays without one's loved ones is never easy. But… by the way, where are _you_ working at, dear? You always seem _so_ busy." Whoof. That's a blow. Couldn't she just assume he's keeping me? Great, now I have to think up some Muggle profession for myself as well. Come on, McNeil, some quick thinking. You can do that.

"I'm… uh… working in the Treasury department at Lloyd's. Just middle management, though. Nothing glamorous, but lots of work." I wave my hand dismissively to tell her it's not worth talking about and also thank Merlin… thank _God_ Dad's a Muggle and used to work exactly where I just placed myself. Satisfied I lean back on the couch. Directly into Orion's arm that's draped over my half of the back-rest. What the… Is that supposed to be the revenge for my feet in his lap?

And it's still getting better, because now he answers, saying: "But I'm still very proud of you, darling." and squeezes my shoulder kind of affectionately. Eh… where exactly are we going here? But anyway, it's time I have some fun as well.

I turn towards him, smiling and replying: "Thank you, puffin." The smug grin on his face almost instantaneously falters. Ha. Serves you right.

But before Mrs Wright can notice the short exchange he gathers his wits surprisingly fast, stating: "Don't we have to talk to your mother about, you know, Christmas and everything, _darling_?" Mh. Seems he's taking a shine on that nickname. Well, I do think _I_ took a shine to "puffin" as well.

"Oh, of course we do. Thanks for reminding me, _puffin_." I turn to Mrs Wright, deliberately ignoring Orion's reaction at being called the name of a bird a second time. "I'm afraid we have to leave, Mrs Wright. We had a lovely afternoon, but my mother was really adamant about calling her today. She's always a little fuzzy about Christmas and I don't want to her to worry too much. I hope you don't take offence in our leaving now." Being a mother of grown-up children herself Mrs Wright absolutely does _not_ mind us leaving now, so we get up and – under approximately a hundred "This is so considerate of you my dear."s – take our leave from Mrs Wright's flat.

When we're finally out of her earshot I turn to Orion, almost hissing: "_What_ in You-Know-Who's name was _that_ all about?" I hope for his sake he will _not_ feign ignorance, just for _once_.

Unfortunately for him he just raises an eyebrow and says: "Isn't it obvious?"

I roll my eyes and open the door to our apartment. Stepping in, I reply with: "For you, maybe. But do the ignorant Quidditch girl a favour and humour her with a more explicit answer."

Before responding he closes the door behind him, with his face already changed into "irritated because you don't get the easiest thing"-mode. Here we go again. "You wouldn't seriously want the old woman to think we are just living together, would you? Besides, haven't you heard how she's been talking about her late husband?"

Errr… okay, I _do_ get the "just living together"-thing, even if I don't believe someone like Mrs Wright – with children about our age or only slightly older – would really be scandalized at our situation. But what I don't get is the part with the late husband. "Apart from the fact that you're racking someone else's brains again: What does Mrs Wright's husband have to do with making me your girlfriend all of a sudden?" Oops. Even in the dim evening light I can see a blush creeping up on his cheeks when I use the g-word. Orion Yaxley, you can be such a prude.

"She had seemed so happy when she talked about him. - Anyway, why _puffin_? Couldn't you have thought of something less embarrassing?" Alright, so we're doing evasive manoeuvres again. But I'd really love to know why he seemed so wistful all of a sudden. I always thought he'd be okay with the kind of marriage he had with Bryony. Well, that is until she told him she'd screwed around with most of his upper-class pureblood friends, anyway. Could it be that even Orion Yaxley sometimes feels like there just should be… _more_ to living with someone else than status and money? Note to self: Ask him about that in a more quiet setting.

But now on to the task at hand. "I don't see anything embarrassing in "puffin". Certainly less embarrassing than "darling"." I make a face because I _really_ can't stand it when partners call each other by that uninspired and empty nickname. I even once made quite the scene when Tony just wouldn't stop calling me that, back when we'd been newly-weds. He never did it again after that.

"Would you have preferred to be called "Hippogriff"?" He grins, clearly trying to mitigate the situation. Obviously I'm not the only one getting used to my flat mate, learning which buttons to push to stop an argument from escalating.

"Not if it means exposing our wizard identity to a Muggle. But if you want to, you can call me that when we visit my family over the Holidays." I wink at him, making sure he understands I'm just trying to get back at him a little. When he wants to reply, the clock on the mantelpiece catches my eye. Oh… hadn't realized it was already_that_ late. Mum will have a fit if I don't get on the phone in the next ten minutes. "Anyway… I _really_ have to call my mother. You don't mind if we continue this another time, do you?" He just shrugs, telling me he's got some work to do anyway and disappears into his room, leaving me to face the wrath my mum will heap on me because I _still_ haven't really made up my mind about the Holidays.

* * *

_Orion:_

Nobody dares to interrupt me at tea time in the cafeteria. For years I have had my private table in a remote corner. I take my time to enjoy a good cup of tea – or coffee if the day promises to become a long one – and read all the newspapers I have to consult to be well informed. In the beginning, people told me that I should give up such an old fashioned habit. But they soon accepted it and I had won an hour of peace before the evening rush.

Today however, I'm more pretending to read than actually reading. Why by Merlin's beard had I been so desperate to make the old woman believe that I'm more than just Lavinia's flatmate? It's not as if there had been any _need_ to do this at all. What is she supposed to be thinking about me now?

I'm about to turn another page of the Canadian Daily Prophet, just for appearance's sake, when I see a shadow fall over the paper. "Is this seat occupied?" a voice is asking me; a voice everyone dreads. The woman belonging to the voice is sitting down without waiting for my answer.

"Tell me... Carrow", I say, in an icy voice and without looking up. "Do you like harassing people?" I try to concentrate on the paper, but it's mighty difficult. She's up to something, and this usually means trouble.

"Maybe", she's answering in a strangely alluring way that makes me feel even more uncomfortable. "Do you like being harassed?"

I want to reply, but suddenly I feel one of her feet at the inside of my lower leg, slowly wandering upwards. That's scandalous! Maybe I don't have anything against Lavinia putting her feet on my lap after a heavy training session, but this doesn't mean I tolerate Lucinda Carrow's bold moves. I should get up right now and protest! Strangely enough, I only look up and stop short when my gaze reaches her torso because... she's wearing a white blouse... and if you look properly... you realise she's not wearing anything underneath it. I gulp and all of a sudden lose almost all my focus.

"Put your shoe back on!" I tell her, with as much determination as I can muster. This behaviour is impossible! How am I supposed to stay calm?

"Oh, you meant it when you said you liked being harassed?" She can barely hide her amusement. This woman isn't just evil, she's... unnerving!

I get up with a start. "Believe what you want, you do it anyway, but leave me out of it. Good afternoon, Miss Carrow. There are some people in this house who actually _do_ work." I fold the newspapers demonstratively in front of her and turn on my heels. Is this enough for her to write another of those horrid articles for Witch Weekly? I didn't do anything wrong this time... Can't she let it rest? Just now, when it had cooled down a bit after some pureblood friends of mine unexpectedly helped me out, assuring that I would be the last person to cheat on his wife.

"Are you going back to your office? Can I come, too?" she's calling after me. I turn around and see her, legs crossed, playing innocently with a strand of her hair, not looking innocent at all.

"Oh Carrow, _please_." I roll my eyes. There is something going on for sure. But I'd rather not think about it, I've got work to do. One of our correspondents in Argentina had owled two hours ago about some rumours of Death Eater activity in the South American country. If those rumours can be proven solid enough, it will surely make front page. That's more important than Carrow's... allures. I gulp again inaudibly. She had been quite offensive.

As soon as I reach my desk and sit down, I hear the door of my office open and close again. I have a sense of foreboding. "I haven't invited you here, Miss Carrow", I say, barely looking up.

"Really?" she's answering, coming closer and smiling subtly. "How should I have understood 'Carrow, _please_', then?" – of course she's putting the emphasis completely and deliberately wrong – "Sounds like an invitation to me..."

"Don't play stupid." I try to sound unimpressed, but don't feel that way at all. I get up and want to kindly show her out of the room. Only... she... somehow... managed to slip between me... and the door. I'm confused. She's standing so close to me that I can smell her – obviously ridiculously expensive – perfume. She's looking up to me as if she hadn't done anything to land us in this situation, smiling a bit too innocently and slowly putting her arms around my neck.

I can't do anything about it, I'm about to lose control here. "G... g..." _great_, now I start to stutter. I clear my throat nervously, "gg-et out." That was weak. And, of course she doesn't even think of leaving. Rather, she's still reducing the distance between us, looking into my eyes in a way I've never seen her before. In a last effort, I turn my head to avoid this... gaze.

"There's no escape", she's whispering in my ear instead. I can... see that... I've already half forgotten who's standing in front of me, this woman is just... stop it. Stop it _now_. "Carrow..." I say weakly.

"Lucy... it's Lucy", she's answering absentmindedly. I'm definitely not listening to reason anymore... especially when I feel her lips touching mine. She knows how to kiss a man... and I, stupid, am kissing her back... almost desperately. I haven't kissed anyone like this in a long time... ever since... I don't remember. Unimportant. I'm going to regret this, I'm going to... oh, and will you s_hut up _already?

I can't recall how the buttons of her blouse were opened or when I had lifted her on my desk, just that it somehow... happened. She's asking me questions between kisses and I answer without thinking. I'm not... thinking anyway.

When I finally get back to my senses, Carrow is already gone. I'm still smiling vacantly and I don't know how much time had gone by. It was just too much... it starts to dawn on me, slowly, inevitably... just how stupid I had been. I'm somewhat in between grinning idiotically and imminent panic. What the hell had I been thinking? Sleeping with Carrow, of all people!

Is there one thing that would have meant more trouble than this? How am I going to break the news to Lavinia? Why am I even thinking about Lavinia, anyway? We're just sharing an apartment, it's not like I have done anything wrong… technically. I really only have cheated on my wife, but I don't suppose it matters to her.

Still. We had decided to fight off Carrow together, Lavinia and me, I mean. And now, I… I can't possibly tell her. I just… can't. Maybe Carrow won't write about it at all… or in a way I can deny everything. There must be a way out of this mess I've landed us in. I sigh and start picking up the dossiers, articles and quills that had fallen on the floor while Carrow had been here. It's probably best if I sit and wait.

* * *

**A/N: **A happy New Year to all our readers, even those who don't review ;) We sincerly hope that all of you had a splendid New Year's Eve party. May all your wishes and hopes for 2008 come true.

And now something regarding the story: As some of you may have noticed we changed the story's rating, mostly because I realized that Lavinia _really _likes to use profanities in like every second sentence or something and because this story is about to become a little darker and a little sexier.


	21. Chapter 21

**Twenty One**

"_Hot gossip,  
they're talking 'bout it all over town.  
these things have ways of gettin' around.  
I'm sick and tired of hearing that sound.  
I've had enough.  
You've got to stop foolin' around."_

_Gary Moore, "Hot Gossip"_

* * *

_ Lavinia:_

You know, even though I told Orion I actually love my job, the days I seriously think about quitting it have become increasingly often in the last few weeks. First training sessions got more exhausting than usual. Then people get actually hostile, mostly both Coaches, Magpies and National team. _N__ow_ people are playing to be sympathetic, and I have _no_ idea why.

And here I thought that it couldn't get worse. I actually thought it would get _better_. Last Monday, the day after having tea with Mrs Wright, started off with less hostility than in the weeks after Carrow's article about Orion and me running around Muggle London, and even the Coaches started to become friendly again. They even took me off broom shed duty at Wednesday. I grew a little suspicious, but all through the week things started to normalize, both at the training and with all the people around me. Mum finally quit bitching about the article, friends I hadn't seen in quite a while and I could finally catch up on all the things we couldn't talk about because we just never found time for, Orion threw himself into work… And then suddenly today people in the team give me pitying looks all the time.

The girls – stupid Helena "I'm the most annoying bitch in Quidditch history" Chiverston-Althorpe as their fearless leader – all uttered things like "Men… all the same, huh?" and "Good thing you got rid of him." while the boys gave me sympathetic hugs and tried to have a go at me, trying to "cheer me up a little" Seriously, what's _wrong_ with these people?

But now I'm done with the session, thank Merlin, and am changing and packing up things for going home. Can't wait to have a nice hot bath and maybe tease Orion a little bit about having tea with Mrs Wright another time. Oh yeah, great idea.

I only have to stop Chiverston from forcing me into a conversation about some rubbish or the other, because that's what she's obviously planning to do by coming over to me with that sickly sweet "you poor thing"-look on her face. Come on, McNeil, pack faster. Just this t-shirt and you're done. Yes, that's it, wave a good-bye to Martinson and Sax and you're… You're standing right in front of Chiverston. Argh.

"Oh, Lavinia, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for giving you such a hard time the last few weeks." The hell you are, Chiverston. You just _loved_ torturing me, because you love to torture people in general. And because you hate my guts, although I have _no_ idea what I did to you to deserve that.

"Well, no hard feelings, everything forgiven and forgotten. Now, have fun, I'll just get ho…" Before I can step by her, she's taken a step to the side, efficiently blocking my only exit. I take a look at Martinson and Sax, but they both pretend to be utterly interested in their bags. Great.

"No, really, I am so _terribly_ sorry. Seeing as that he was just using you and everything. It was so cruel of him to lure you away from mourning for Tony." What the_hell_ is she talking about? A victim? And who's that mysterious he and what's got Tony to do with everything all of a sudden?

I guess my bewilderment shows on my face because I can see already triumph glittering in her eyes. Ah, bugger it. She's on to something, and she'll not let me out as long as she doesn't get what she wants. So let's just bloody get through with it. "I'm… sorry, you kinda lost me here. What exactly are you talking about?" Bingo. No pity anymore on her face, just shameless celebration.

She coos: "You haven't already seen it?" Seen _what_, you slithering snake? Just get it over with, will you? "You poor thing… wait, I have a copy for you." A… copy? With a flourish, she produces a battered copy of the latest Witch Weekly issue and shoves it under my nose. Reluctantly I take it and skim over the page she just rammed into my face.

At first I don't see what she means but then something moving catches my eye. A photo. Of a scantily clad woman who looks suspiciously like an older Lucinda Carrow and a blond guy that… that… Oh. Bloody. Fuck. I get back to the text and read it, this time with all my attention on it.

_**Look who's cheating again!**_

_Renowned members of Britain's pure-blood society have heavily criticized Witch Weekly coverage on the philandering life of one of their most prominent heirs, Orion Yaxley. Our special reporter, Lucinda Carrow, has been accused of tampering the facts. Read her intimate recount of a very special encounter with Yaxley, exclusively in this week's edition of Witch Weekly!_

_Someone like Yaxley always has a hidden agenda behind his actions. I was instantly suspicious when the second-editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet appeared in front of my table during tea-break. "Is this seat taken?" he was asking me and before I could even look up from my tea, he'd already sat down. I admit I was rather confused, but not Yaxley. He threw me looks I've never seen on him before. It wasn't hatred as I expected; it was desire._

"_Would you mind dropping by my office?" he asked, taking my hands and looking into my eyes as if his intention was perfectly innocent. "I have some matters to discuss with you." He had disappeared before I could reply. What was that all about? My knees were still weak when I got up. Had he done the same thing to those other women? My journalistic instinct told me that there was no other way but to go there and find out._

_He had been waiting for me. As soon as I have closed the door behind me, he's already cornered me against the door. "Carrow... I've been wondering", he said, smiling in a very self-satisfied way. "If you'd like to proof your articles right." I instantly knew that there was no easy escape out of this. I had to think quickly. There were only two options: Scream and kick him into his privates or go through with it._

_My thought of you, dear readers, made me decide to go to the bottom of it and let him continue. Yaxley proofed to be a very experienced if annoyingly narcissistic lover. If I can't say that it had been one of the more enjoyable encounters of my life, it certainly was worthwhile. For not only can I now provide you with exclusive pictures of a new episode of Yaxleys escapades (see above and following page), I even have first hand information to distort all the accusations against my reporting. Ladies, be warned! Don't let him get you - he's still married._

For at least a minute my brains seems to have totally emptied up. There's no thought in it, only lots of anger and betrayal and thousands of other things. I don't even fully register the smug grin on Chiverston's face. How… could he? _Carrow_ of all people? Why in Merlin's name? Without another word, I push Chiverston aside and storm out of the room. _This_ is certainly blasting _a lot_ of things to pieces.

_Orion:_

Merlin, I nearly got a heart-attack! Someone just slammed the door of our apartment so hard I wouldn't be surprised if it had been broken. Today, the newest issue of Witch Weekly got out. I suspect that's the reason for the slamming of the door. At least, that's the reason why I have decided to work here rather than go to the editorial office. So I could see how bad the damage actually is before facing my colleagues.

Only, somehow my copy of the women's magazine hasn't arrived here, yet. I won't have to wait much longer though, by the sound if it. Something just clashed in the hall. If we're lucky, she just slammed her shoes on the floor.

There goes the door of my room – never heard of knocking? – and all I notice at first is a bunch of flaming red hair and a obviously furious Lavinia storming at my desk. She's looking quite scary, actually.

Without saying anything, she's throwing something on my desk, glaring at me like she's going to burn me any minute. So, she got a copy... obviously. If only I knew what exactly she read... stay calm. Just... stay calm, we'll find out. It's not easy staying cool if someone is glaring at you like this.

I take a deep breath in a last effort to calm myself down and maybe her as well and raise an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to be?"

"That's what I'm asking _you_!" she's leaning towards me, hands on the desk, still glaring. I risk a glance on the paper. Oh crap! That's bad. Carrow's actually got_pictures_! How on earth has she been able to take pictures of that! I'm doomed.

"You don't honestly believe that crap, do you? She's obviously exaggerating"; I tell her. It would be helpful, though, if I knew the details. And would you mind stop staring at me like I eat children? I slowly take up the magazine and try to read... it's not an easy thing to do, when a furious flatmate is towering in front of you and the page you're trying to read is plastered with pictures of yourself kissing and undressing that blonde reporter in your own office.

This is bad. Very bad. And I have no idea how I'm supposed to be getting out of this.

"Exaggerating? Not even Carrow writes things that totally lack _any_ truth. Now, _what_ were you thinking when... no, wait. You didn't think anything at all, did you?" Yeah, that's about exactly what's happened. Only... I'm never going to admit that, am I? And she's _still_ glaring. Come on, stop it, it's irritating. I risk another glance at the article and roll my eyes again.

"So, you _believe_, that I - just like that - _seduced_ Lucinda Carrow only to proof her other articles right? Come on, that's ridiculous." It's hard to believe Carrow tried to sell it like this after what she did. But I'll have to worry about that later, because Lavinia obviously is getting even more irate by the look of it.

"How stupid do you think I am? I don't care who seduced whom, I want to know how you could go and fraternize with the enemy, just like that." Now, she's slamming her hand on the desk and folds her arms in front of her chest.

She's starting to annoy me. I get up as well. At least she can't look down on me anymore. The advantage of being tall. "You don't actually think I did this on purpose, do you? Fraternizing with the enemy! I'd like to see you resist, when-" I stop abruptly. Better not go into details. "It's none of your business anyway."

"None of my business? Do you have _any_ idea what this stupid article did to me? It's all the same, every time. First you guys are all big talk, and then the blond siren comes your way and you forget everything else." I roll my eyes again.

"Oh, you must know so many guys who have done something like this that you can actually judge us", I'm getting sarcastic again. Not a good sign. "Can't you get over it? Yes, okay, I made a mistake, but it's not like I cheated on _you_ or something."

I might just have overstepped it, because she's not glaring anymore. In fact, she looks rather beaten now and doesn't sound all that confident when she speaks again: "Bugger off, Yaxley. Just go play with your fellow Slytherin. And while you're at it, you can have a laugh at the stupid little Hufflepuff. How's that?"

"For Merlin's sake! I don't want to be involved with Carrow in _any_ possible way and I don't want to laugh at you, either! But it just_happened_. It's not against you! I just…" I sigh exasperated. I'm feeling incredibly guilty about everything, but what should I do now? I don't think we're getting somewhere. How am I supposed to explain it to her when I don't understand how it had happened in the first place? "Maybe it's better if I leave."

"Yes, maybe it is. I trust you to know the way to the door yourself. And maybe you should take your things with you." She's sounding strangely detached. I gulp. This wasn't how I meant it. Is she kicking me out? Because of _Carrow_? Without looking at her, I go to the door, feeling entirely miserable.

"I'll send Bongo to get my stuff later on." That certainly isn't how I'd have wanted it to end.

* * *

**A/N: **Here we go again. Granted, we took some time, but in the meantime we just finished chapter 24 and are about to start chapter 25. We would really, really love to have some reviews, telling us if you like it and even if you don't. We appreciate comments and we don't eat reviewers. Really. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Twenty Two**

"_Try to imagine a house that's not a home  
Try to imagine a christmas all alone  
That's where I'll be  
Since you left me."_

_Mud, "Lonely this Christmas"_

* * *

_Orion:_

How could it come to this? I'm increasingly miserable with every step I get closer to the manor house that's supposed to be my own. It's Christmas Eve and everything I've tried to avoid this situation basically went wrong.

Lavinia hasn't been talking to me for three days, ever since she found out about Carrow and I have left. I haven't had the heart to actually send one of the house elves to get my stuff at her place. It's bizarre, but I miss everything about it… and her. It had just been a couple of months!

It would have been more comfortable spending Christmas there instead of here, even if she went to see her family. Exactly six years ago, on Christmas Eve, I remember it like it had been yesterday… war had been ragging worse than ever, nobody could have foreseen that the ministry could eventually win it. Coming here, seeing the Dark Mark loom over the house, knowing what I would find. No light's had been in any windows, just like today. All dead.

I dreaded this return so much I even tried to spend tonight at the office, doing some research on Carrow, for instance. I'm sure she's hiding something, because it has proofed to be practically impossible to find anything about what she's done after school and before she began at Witch Weekly.

Anyway, it had ironically been Carrow to make work impossible, as if she knew I'm on her trail. I have seen her entering the building of the editorial offices this morning and I won't spend Christmas alone in the same building with that… that… impossible person.

Suddenly, I had nowhere to go. My marriage is ruined, the only friendship I seriously valued is broken because of one stupid loss of control on my part… and work, the place that had always been a last resort, suddenly was no option anymore, either. I'm lost here. My own house suddenly seems threateningly big even from the outside, and all is cold and dark. Nobody's there.

I have spent my entire afternoon strolling through London – even the Muggle-part, where I almost got lost – to find something appropriate to maybe... I'm not even sure if this is a good idea. Maybe I've only done that to keep me from coming here. Now I've delayed it till after dawn and it has made it even worse.

As soon as I open the door, the lights in the vast entrance hall go on. I smile. At least the house elves can be trusted. My faithful Bongo is at my side, taking my coat and bag before I can blink. "Thank you very much", I say to him. It's neither common nor appropriate to thank your house elves for their services, but I'm strangely happy to meet at least one friendly living thing today, even if it's a house elf.

"I will have dinner in the small salon by the fireplace. No need for decorations or anything, I'm not in the mood for celebrations." He's already about to disapparate to the kitchens, but I suddenly don't want him to leave. "Just keep me company. I'll go to the kitchens myself."

I've never done that before. My mother used to visit the kitchens once in a while to make sure everything's okay, but I've rarely ever been to those parts of the house. "As you wish, master", the elf replies, bowing low as always. I frown. Who would have thought that I would end up with my house elf as the only company on Christmas Eve, probably even the entire Christmas Holidays?

On our way to the kitchen I ask him all about the house and life outside here. It turns out that house elves know a lot about their surroundings if you care to ask… I would still have preferred someone human and equal for conversation. The two house elves that work in the kitchen get very nervous when I enter. I even have to calm them down a bit by telling them I'm not doing an inspection and that I'm entirely satisfied with their work – I'm only ordering my food in person today, for the occasion.

And to keep me from brooding over the events of the last days and weeks… what went wrong? What should I have done to avoid it? If I just had been able to resist Carrow... I've actually pictured those events in my head over and over again – only in my mind I stop them before they got out of hand. But the milk is spilled, you can't make it undone.

Maybe I shouldn't have left Lavinia just like that, maybe it would have been better to fight a little more – but she seemed to be so upset about what had happened that I don't see how our last conversation could have ended any differently. And that bugs me even more. It's as if there's no way to make this up. At least I'm determined to get Carrow what she deserves.

After a rather lonely and miserable meal, only lightened by the fact that at least Bongo had been around, I have made up my mind. I must at least give it a try. "Bongo, I've got a very special job for you to do", I say and smile when I see the eyes of the elf brighten. They're so easy to content. "I must have you go to Lavinia's place for me again…"

_Lavinia:_

I used to love Christmas. I really did. Even after Tony had died, I used to. Not as much as before, but still enough. And then the fifth anniversary of his death and a certain Witch Weekly writer came, and everything went down the drain. First all Orion who wormed his way back into my life, then this stuff at training and Chiverston who got more annoying with every session, then all the Howlers and Mum freaking out after the London-article… and in the end Orion moving out and me having to celebrate Christmas at the O'Leary family house.

Don't get me wrong, I love my family, and usually I love Christmas with them, but for some reason this year practically everyone apart from my parents decided to make it hell for me. I have a quadrillion of well-meaning aunts, and everyone if them thought they needed to tell me what they thought about the whole "Tony situation". Either they wanted me to "talk about it", which I refused to do since I have this rule not to talk about it _at all._ Or they wanted to chastise me for neglecting his memory so shamelessly or try and set me up with one of those nice lonely neighbours all of them seem to know.

Then there were all the cousins asking me whether they'll throw me out of the National Team this year or if they'll wait with that until the next and the uncles trying to cheer me up with masses of stupid pureblood jokes… honestly, I felt like Bridget Jones at Una Alconbury's turkey curry, only ten times worse. And additionally… I kept thinking about Orion, wondering if he'll maybe have a bout of Christmas nostalgia and go back to Bryony… or if he'll work over Christmas… Gah. In the end I took my parents and Grandpa Horace aside, told them I desperately needed to get away but would come back after Christmas when the house was quiet again, kissed them all good-bye and apparated back to my place as fast as I could.

And here I am now, putting off my shoes in the hallway and unceremoniously dropping down on the sofa. After a few moments of just rubbing my eyes and being deliriously happy about having escaped the relatives I realise that this is the first Christmas Eve I'm spending alone ever since… I can't even remember. I guess it's the first Christmas Eve I'm spending alone _ever_.

After a few more moments the quiet that I so desperately wanted seems to be… oppressive, and I turn on the telly to escape. It doesn't take more than a minute, and the "Eastenders Christmas Special" takes my mind off all the bothersome stuff. Only… not. I'm not a regular viewer, and I just can't stop myself from thinking about all the stuff I said to Orion. Really, I tried to tell myself over and over again that it's no use thinking about it since it's all water under bridge, that I should have known that it wouldn't work out between Orion and me… I mean, ten years ago the friendship ended because of a talk that was quite similar.

Only then it had been about a boy and _Orion_ had been the agitated one. It had been about a transfer student form Durmstrang I'd started to be friends with… what was his name? Bort… Baldur… oh, right, Boreas Something-Russian-I-can-never-remember-anymore. Boreas had been quite popular, but for some reason he'd singled me out to be his special friend. Things with Tony had been… not so good at that time, and things with Orion had been kinda worse since we didn't really know what we actually were. We'd been beyond friends, but it somehow wasn't enough to be a couple… yeah, well, all the things teenagers do. So I was getting along with Boreas better and better, and then someday Orion comes to me, telling me something isn't right with Boreas, that I shouldn't spend time with him… I didn't even really hear him out, just accused him of being jealous and trying to push Boreas out of my life… we really went down with a bang.

The funny thing was: Some time after that Boreas just… vanished. One day he was still there, and the next I got a letter saying his father was to be relocated and that he would follow him and then after that nothing. Never again. For a while I'd hoped Orion and I might reconcile, but we just… never made a real move, neither of us. It had been close to graduation, and _Tony_ was making moves again, so in the end I married him and tried to forget about Orion.

Which I never really did, and which I can't now either. Groaning I get up to get some tea from the kitchen. Both my grandmothers always used to say that whatever happened, it could never become _really_ bad as long as you had a cup of tea ready. Reaching the kitchen, my gaze shortly sweeps over the door to Orion's… former room and I have to stop myself from walking over and opening the door and tear my eyes away; only to find an envelope lying on the kitchen table. Huh? This thing's not been here the time I left, right? Frowning, I take it up. There's only my name on it… in Orion's unmistakable flourish scribble. What the…?

In the end I'm standing there for about a minute, blankly staring at the envelope in my hand before I finally open it. Slowly I reach in and pull out a sheet of paper and… what in Merlin's name… theatre tickets? I raise an eyebrow and unfold the paper. On it there's more of Orion's scribble.

_Dear Lavinia. _

_I know this doesn't make up for anything. But I hope you can at least forget about it for the time you see the play. The seller told me it has witches in it! _

_There are two tickets – take someone who deserves it. _

_Merry Christmas, _

_Orion_

For a moment I'm speechless. Then I look at the tickets again. Alright, it's _Macbeth_, new production. Played by the Royal Shakespeare Company. At the New London Theatre. On January the 12th. A… premiere. A real theatre premiere. For a play everyone deemed sold out about two months ago. Holy bloody Moly Jesus Merlin's bleeding beard!

A little overwhelmed I walk back into the living room and plunge down on the sofa. When Orion does something, he always does it in style. Even making ridiculously expensive Christmas gifts – I'm sure he had to bribe someone to get those tickets.

I take a deep breath then look at the tickets again. Alright. He says I can choose whom to take with me. Actually… I don't have to think very hard about whom I could… whom I _should_ take with me. And I take a look around the room again. Suddenly… it feels pretty lonely here. For some strange reason I have the feeling that I know someone who might be even lonelier than me this Christmas and whom I may owe an apology to. I smile. It may be a complete miss, but I think it would be worth it to have a look at Yaxley Manor tomorrow. Yeah… yeah, that _could_ be a good idea indeed.

* * *

**A/N: **And there we are again, with some belated Christmas chapters to come. And maybe some new players in the game... tell us what you think of the chapter. We would really love to know it. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Twenty-Three**

"_Christmas lights up and down the street  
Presents by the tree  
I hear a knock  
Oh, can it be  
My wish is staring back at me."_

_Carnie & Wendy Wilson "Hey Santa"_

* * *

_Orion:_

When I wake up on Christmas morning, my back hurts slightly. I obviously fell asleep in front of the fireplace in the small salon. Once again I'm grateful for Bongo who seems to have put a pillow under my head and had brought a blanket. I don't understand how people can survive without house elves.

This brings my thoughts back to Lavinia and I wonder if she has already seen my present. I don't think so, though. She has been talking about seeing her family over Christmas. The earliest I can expect a reaction, if there is one to be expected, is after the Holidays.

I have another miserable day in front of me. At least, Christmas Day offers some distraction. Actually, I'd never have thought to be grateful for that one day. My family has been leasing our estate to tenants for centuries and it has been a tradition supposedly for an equally long time that the lord of the manor visits those tenants on Christmas afternoon. Since my parent's death, I have hated that task – but today, I would at least have something useful to do. Besides, our tenants are very nice families of wizards, who often have lived on our estate for centuries.

Just when I'm getting dressed after breakfast, I hear the doorbell. Who could that be? I'm not expecting anyone... I haven't heard that doorbell for years! I send Bongo to let the guest in while I finish dressing. Maybe my wife has remembered she's still married to me...

It's nothing of that kind, though. I enter the hall and my face brightens up instantly and despite myself. "Lavinia! What a pleasant surprise!" I cry and have to control myself all of a sudden not to run towards her. And the best thing about it is that she's not looking angry.

My exuberance stops, though, when I reach her. "Nice to see you, too, Orion", is all she's saying. She looks a little uncertain; but still not angry. I straighten my back and get back into my usual bearing.

"So", I smile, "what brings you here on Christmas Day? Can I invite you on a cup of tea?" With a wave of my hand I order Bongo to take her coat.

"Actually... actually I'm not sure what brought me here", she replies in a strange way. I'm becoming a bit insecure myself; I'm not prepared for this. My thoughts get distracted however when I notice Lavinia is obviously refusing to give her coat to Bongo.

"You can give him the coat, you know. He's trustworthy, believe me", I smirk. Let's see how far your spew-thing gets you in my house.

She finally gives the coat to the elf, rolling her eyes. See? It's not that difficult. Somehow, I'm still smiling broadly. "Now, what about a cup of tea by the fire? I'm afraid it doesn't look very festive. It's comfortable, though." Merlin, why am I blabbering like that?

Okay, obviously, she's really unsure why she came here, because all she's saying is "Tea would be...fine" rather reluctantly. I can't help it. I believe I have never been more pleased to see her.

"If you'd follow me, please", I say to her and order Bongo to bring tea and some Christmas treats to the small salon. The room is on the ground floor, on the left side of the entrance hall. I rather like it because it's small and cosy – plus, you don't have to walk through half the corridors to get there. I open the door for Lavinia and offer her a seat in one of the armchairs beside the fire. Obviously, the other house elves had been busy while I had been in the hall with Lavinia. There's a Christmas tree standing in the corner beside the window.

Just when I'm about to sit down, she's jumping up again. Before I can even get confused, she says ""Oh, wait, I've got something for you." She's got something for me? Why? I can't help getting suspicious. She hasn't been angry, right? And she's not... surely she hasn't come just to bring back the stuff I've left at her place, has she?

"You have?" I ask cautiously.

She's already out of the room before I realise it. "Of course I do! It's Christmas Day!" I hear her calling out of the entrance hall. Christmas? A present? Really? I'm still standing rather confused beside my armchair when she comes storming back with a wrapped present under her arm. So, I suppose it's not the stuff I've left with her.

"It's not easy finding something fitting for you..." she's telling me, with an expectant smile on her face, "but I think I got the right thing. Something to puzzle it out..." With those words, she's handing a small package to me. Puzzle out? What could that be? I think I look quite puzzled already. "And something to lift your mood", with that, she's handing me another, slightly bigger, box.

"Well, thank you", I say, a little overwhelmed already without knowing what she got me. "Should I open them right away?" She nods and I gesture her to sit down again. Bongo has already put tea on the table. I unpack the first package first. It's... I don't know what it is. A small box with numbers on it. One of those strange things Muggles use to put against their ears and talk into.

"Err... thank you", I manage to say, still mustering the strange object. Lavinia must have seen me observing her when she used one of those to contact her mother or father. It's... fascinating, but... I'm not supposed to... be interested in Muggle stuff. So I just put it aside for a while, planning to look at the Muggle box later, when I'm alone and unwrap the other present.

"Terry's Chocolate Orange", I read on the box. Never heard of that. It's no Honeydukes-product. Which can only mean... "Muggle Chocolate!" I smile at Lavinia, even though my friends would surely say that her presents were an insult to a good pureblood. It doesn't hurt tasting it once, does it? "Thank you, Lavinia. I didn't expect any presents from you..." after what has happened with Carrow. But better not start discussing this now, not when everything seems so peaceful. "Tea?"

"Yes, of course. And you know, you can ask me if you have no idea what to do with your presents." She winks at me and I pour her some tea. "I'll come back to that. How have you been? I... I'd never have expected you here today." I'm slowly getting more relaxed. Seems like I've actually got a second chance.

Instead of answering me, she's staring into the fire for a moment. I haven't asked the wrong question, have I? Why is she always able to make me insecure about my questions. I don't normally mind asking people those questions that are out of bounds. "I've been... okay... I guess", she finally starts explaining. "Family's been bugging me a little too much, so I decided to spend Christmas at the flat and then..." sounds awful to me. "... found your presents and... remembered I'd wanted to get you something, too."

She has found my present? Is that why she's come? I grin. If that's true my unsophisticated and desperate plan has worked. "You found it?" Come on... tell me if you like it!

"Yeah, I found it... You know, I thought it was a bit... mediocre." What? Dammit, I knew I should have looked for something more sophisticated. My mood drops. I really wanted it to be... but then she suddenly starts laughing heartedly "Merlin... it was bloody fantastic, you stupid oaf!" WHAT? Now, I'm totally confused. "I was just kidding. Really, you should have seen your face."

I can't help start laughing, too. "Lavinia... you're just..." I bop her into the side in a friendly way like she used to when I've been teasing her. "You're mean. That's what you are. I believed you!" We're both nearly out of breath when we finally stop laughing. It's like nothing had happened.

"You know... being mean is not a Slytherin prerogative." She's answering with a vicious gleam in her eyes.

"You don't have to tell me that." And she really doesn't – I've had way too many feuds during our time in Hogwarts with various classmates to have illusions about any Hogwarts house.

Suddenly, I remember what day it is and what I'm supposed to do today. I look on my watch and startle. "Oh, I'm running late. I'm sorry, Lavinia, I have to get going..." I'm not keen on leaving anymore. "You know, I have to visit the tenants today. They're probably already expecting me. But... err... I suppose you have to get back to your family, too, right?"

"I... no, I'm not. I didn't exaggerate when I said they've been bugging me a little too much." She's avoiding my gaze. I frown.

"Oh... I'm sorry, that bad?" I hesitate. It would be too perfect... I've still got to try it. "You can stay here if you like. The seaside is surely worth a visit. I can show you around."

She's not answering right away and I'm getting nervous. Surely she's only trying to find proper words to decline my offer. It has just been stupid, thinking we could just... "The seaside, mh? I think it's been some time since I've been in this part of England, and I think I've never seen it in winter. I'd be delighted to take up your invitation."

I suppose I'm positively beaming at her now. "Great! I've still got to visit the tenants first, though. Would you like to join me?" Just when I've said it, I remember something. "Oh... er... are you familiar with horseback riding? I mean, you're supposed to be an expert on brooms but... you know, my family has this spleen about horses and it's tradition to visit the tenants on one of our Thoroughbreds. So..."

"It's been a while since I mounted a horse, but maybe... I think I'll try it." For a moment, I'm surprised. Hardly any witches or wizards have ever mounted a horse as they count among "boring, non-magical creatures".

"Formidable. Let's go, then."

_Lavinia:_

We're out in the cold again, walking over to the stables. When we reach them I have to say that I _am_ surprised at little that there are _real_ horses inside. Up to now I suspected that he'd been talking about some magical horses, but in fact there are only rows of English Thoroughbreds, bristling, neighing, steaming in the morning cold. The little horse girl in me that's been sleeping for over fifteen years suddenly wakes up again and I even get a little excited.

I take another look around, but there are – of course – no stable hands here. Instead he calls for his house elf – _again_… I guess I just have to get used to that, since we're on his home turf now – and tells him to saddle up a little chestnut mare. When the house elf is done, we get the horses out in the air and mount up. For a moment I'm a little lost, but then my body obviously remembers what my brain doesn't and I take off after him in slow walk.

After we've ridden alongside for a while, he suddenly says: "Pardon my curiosity, but... where did you learn how to ride a horse?" I grin a little, increasing the pressure of my calves to remind the mare who's the master around here.

"Grandpa Horace may have put me on my first broom, but Aunt Jenny – that's my dad's sister, a Muggle – introduced me to horses. For a while I loved both of them the same." The mare shakes her head, trying to get away from the tug of my reigns but almost unconsciously I show the skittish little beast I'm not so stupid as to let her take over.

He smiles a little, obviously not fully taking in that I just reminded him that unlike him I'm a half-blood. "Ah, mystery solved. Are Muggles really as mad about horses as they say? My father used to secretly send our best mares to races."

I smile back. "Not all of them. But yeah, once in a while Dad took us to the races or to a horse fair. Little Lavinia McBean could be made happy very easily."

He doesn't answer, just kicks his gelding into a trot. After a few minutes we arrive at a small cottage. Its inhabitants are already standing outside, waving and bowing to Orion when he dismounts and walks towards the family. His greatcoat is billowing behind him and I realise he's actually dressed like a squire in early 19th century, only lacking the beaver hat. Suddenly I feel very out of place with my Muggle jeans and the winter coat.

"Merry Christmas, Mr and Mrs Abigail." he greets them, the same way I imagine a paternalistic land owner two centuries ago would have greeted his tenants. "I have to excuse Mrs Yaxley, she's very busy this year, but she sends her greetings as well" Oh, she is? My, my, lying to the people you're responsible to, Mr Yaxley. "This is Mrs McNeal, she's a friend of mine." Oops, that's me. They both look at me expectantly, and behind their legs two children are hiding. I have _no_ idea what I'm supposed to do now, so when Orion turns back to talking with Mr Abigail about the crops and the sheep and stuff like that I cautiously approach Mrs Abigail and the kids.

I want to stick out my hand but she curtsies right in front of me, making me feel incredibly embarrassed. The wizard part of my family has always been well-respected, some of them even celebrities, but not in the way the Yaxleys were… still are. My family just doesn't belong to this kind of aristocracy and we never had this much money or land.

In the end I decide to just wish her a merry Christmas and then try to coax the children into leaving their hiding place by asking if they'd like to pet the horse. After looking up at their mother with big, pleading eyes and receiving and encouraging nod they reluctantly leave the safety behind their mother's legs and let me lead them towards the mare. At first she's a little nervous, but when she realises that the little humans don't want her any harm she lets them pet her. A few moments later, I hear Orion saying good-bye to Mr and Mrs Abigail and rub both the kids' hair before we mount the horses to visit the next family.

I turn back to the family again and wave, and Orion suddenly says: "Oh, maybe I should warn you. The daughter of the Johnsons, that's the next family we're going to see, she's called, err... Sarah or Sandra, I suppose. Anyway, she's a huge Quidditch fan. It may be that she knows you." I turn to him, a little surprised that he actually knows such things about the people caring for his crops and cattle.

"Oh… okay. Maybe I'll do better there then with the Abigails then." Oops. The last wasn't supposed to be said out loud.

He looks at me, displaying a true Slytherin grin and prompts: "Yes, you were doing truly horrible.", but before I can answer he kicks the gelding into a canter which leaves me no opportunity to answer. Very well, then, Mr Yaxley, I do get the hint. Finally giving the mare the freedom she's been trying to obtain ever since Orion raced away I chase after him.

When we finally reach the house, both the mare and I are a bit out of breath, but I still feel great. I'm a bit of a speed freak, and the only thing better than horseback racing over fields on a winter morning is doing it on a broom. As we approach the cottage, the family is standing before it as well, but there's a lot less formality and subservience than the last time. I have to grin a little when I get a glimpse of the makeshift Quidditch pitch behind the house. Okay, so that's how Orion got to know about the little Quidditch fan in the family.

Anyway, this time Orion is received a lot heartier than before. The head of the family, a stout man in his 40ties, readily grabs his hand and Mrs Johnson, a burly woman the same age, even takes as much liberty as to shortly ruffling his hair as if he still was the master's ten-year old son. He delivers the same speech to them that he did last time, and a delighted squeal rings through the winter air as he announces my name. The eldest of the children excitedly runs forward to stare at me in open awe. Okay, so the little dark-haired girl before obviously must be Sarah or Sandra.

After staring at me a little more and getting a "Sarah, this is very rude!" from her mother, she turns around to around and asks him: "Oh, Master Orion! How did you do it? That's marvellous. I love how you play, Lavinia... I mean, Mrs. McNeil!" Oh. Oh, this is just priceless. I guess Orion just turned into Father Christmas for the little girl.

Before Orion can answer, Mrs Johnson rushes forward and grabs her child's shoulder to chastise her, but I take pity on the little one, telling her that it's okay and that I'm used to this. Under her mother's watchful eyes I crouch down before the girl and say: "Thank you for the praise, little miss Sarah. You like to play Quidditch yourself?" She eagerly nods, and that makes me smile. She reminds me of my in that age a lot. "What's your favourite position?"

A very broad grin lights up her face when she prompts: "I'm going to be a chaser when I go to Hogwarts next year!" Wow, that's some confidence! I've known players from the National Team who have less enthusiasm for Quidditch.

"I'm sure you will. And already going to Hogwarts next year. You surely_are_ a big girl."

She nods again, but before she can react to that, Orion suddenly comes towards us and leans down to murmur something in my ear. "Would you do her a favour and score some goals with her?" For a moment I'm a little flustered because I realise that this is the nearest we ever came each other since we've been living together. And it's not… unpleasant. Seems the old Yaxley-draw still exists.

In the end I just nod and when Orion leaves to have the agricultural talk with Sarah's parents I have a suggestion for her. "Hey, you know what? I'd really like to see you play. The Magpies always need good players." I give her a wink and her small face lights up with pleasure. Without another word she grabs my hand and drags me over to the small Quidditch pitch.

Really excited now she runs to a little shed to the side and gathers a children's broom and an old ball case. The broom is an older model but still in top-shape. I remember Orion asked me to do a little playing myself, and I guess scoring at least two or three goals against Lavinia McNeil might give Sarah enough confidence to actually make it into her house team in two or three years. I call to her: "Hey, you've got a broom left for me? I want to see how big a girl you really are."

Instead of answering right away, Sarah waves me over to the shed and points inside. "There… at the back… my brother Edward used this one when he'd been playing at Hogwarts." I reach into the shed to retrieve and old Cleansweep Seven. Merlin, these had already been outdated when _I_'d attended Hogwarts, but it still looks fine. I wonder how old Edward is and what he's doing now, but Sarah is already dragging me over to the middle of the pitch.

She doesn't waste any time, releases the Quaffel and is faster in the air than I am. I'm delighted to see her fly because she _is_ a natural. Within the confines of her young age, her moves are fluent, she's got her broom under control and she's certainly got a lot of ambition. I had planned to let her have a few goals so she wouldn't be too devastated but she's actually giving me quite a piece of work, considering that she's only ten years old. In the end she scores four goals, and one of them purely out of skill and without my help. Not bad.

When we're done, the family gives us all a hearty good-bye, with Mrs Johnson even daring to give me a hug and thanking Orion very much for making it seem he brought me with him just for her. I guess she'll talk about this for _years_ now. After lots of good-byes and well-wishes we finally mount the horses again. Before we get moving again, he turns to me, grins and states: "Yes, definitely better than last time." I just stick out my tongue and we're off to the next family.

In the end, we visited two more families. Nothing big happened but I learned a little how to behave as Mr Yaxley's guest, and now we're finally on our way back to the house. By now I could really use a hot bath and after that a good meal. I just _bet_ I'm going to be really sore tomorrow, but that was worth it. Thank Merlin we're only about a quarter of a mile away from the Manor, and I already can see it.

It seems, though, that a little devil is riding Orion today since he turns to me with a wicked gleam in his eyes and he says: "If I reach the manor first, you have to accept being served by house elves. If you win, I'm going to do the washing up on my own." He leaves me only a moment to open my mouth and then he spurs his horse to a canter again. This time reacting faster I kick the mare and give her the reigns.

But it's no use since he's still faster than I am in the end. Panting the mare and I reach the stables after him. A house elf is already taking care of his gelding and he puts of his gloves, grinning at me. "I guess that's no complaining about house elves for you anymore."

Wha…? "Hey, I never actually agreed to…"

Instead of answering he just laughs and tells his house elf: "Bongo, we'd like to dine in the winter dining room on the north side." I attempt to give him a shove but he catches my wrist, pulls me towards his side and puts an arm around my shoulder. Holy… "Hey, I thought you were a sportsman."

"Sportswoman, actually. In case you haven't noticed already." I dive away from under his arm, because seriously: Excited Orion always gives me the creeps because I have _no_ idea how to deal with that. "Now… I'd really like…" To have a bath, but that I realise I haven't brought any spare clothes with me, so I finish the sentence with: "… to go home and bring a few spare…"

"You wouldn't seriously have thought I wouldn't take care of that? It has already been brought to your room." Oooh, that's patronizing Orion now. Good. I can handle that. Or not, because when I open my mouth he stops me short with saying: "Ah, ah, ah... young lady, what did I just tell you about the service of house elves?" Alright, so he really means that. And he's wickedly enjoying this whole thing. Oh well, I guess I owe him some because I really shouldn't have reacted like I did with the Carrow article.

Looking a little beaten I finally agree and when we reach the house I try very hard to just accept the house elf taking off my coat. "So," I say, "you said something about a room. Does it have a bath room? Because I could really do with one before dinner."

He grows a little more sombre now. "Bongo here will show it to you, soon. But listen, this is very important: You must not wander around in this house on your own. If you want to go to a room other than the one he'll just show you, call a house elf. This house is magical and centuries old, you have to be careful. Oh... and if you meet a white lady, just ignore her, that's my lovely great-great-aunt Carina. She can be a bit disturbing at times." Oh… uh… how dangerous can it be in a house that doesn't belong to a Death Eater? Surely he must be exaggerating. But it seems important to him so out loud I just give him an affirmative and give Bongo a nod to escort me to the room he's assigned me to.

* * *

**A/N: **And so there we are again, with a belated Christmas chapter (and not the last at that). We-ell... you know the drill, people: _Please_ tell us what you think of this. We can't get better if we don't know what you think of it... 


	24. Chapter 24

**Twenty-****Four**

"_This ole house once knew his children  
This ole house once knew a wife  
This ole house was home and comfort  
As we fought the storms of life  
This old house once rang with laughter  
This old house heard many shouts  
she trembles in the darkness  
When the lightnin' walks about."_

_Shakin' Stevens, "This Ole House" _

* * *

_Lavinia:_

Oh well… there we are. Done with the bathing – _finally_ a real, long, bubbly, soapy, hot, _wonderful_ bath – in new robes and on my way to dinner. _Without_ a house elf. Really, when he brought me here, we walked straight along the corridor, took two turns and there we were. Can't be that hard to find my way back on my own, really.

Okay, now, where to? Oh, that's right, two doors, then right… uh… or maybe not. I really can't remember this strange picture with the… what in hell _is_ that? Okay, better not think about it, might lead to imminent insanity. Now, where was I? Oh, yes… go back to your own door, then turn _left_… one door, two doors, three doors… shouldn't there be a fourth now? But all I see is another branch-off… mh… I guess the door was on the other side then, because _there_ is one. How strange.

Anyway, where to now? Oh, just straight ahead… what's that strange glowing there… Oops. Orion did obviously _not_ exaggerate when he said there was a white lady in this house. She comes floating towards me. Before I can duck into another hallway, she has already reached me and is examining me from head to toe. I want to say something – not sure what exactly, but _something_ – but she gives me a stern look and says: "And who, young lady, might _you_ be?" From the tone of her voice, she is clearly not amused.

"I… errr…", poise, young lady, poise, "I am Lavinia McNeil, a friend of Orion's… I'm a guest of this house. "And you must be the famous Lady Carina Yaxley… it's an honour to meet you." A still stern face keeps looking down at me. The austere Victorian dress doesn't really make her a look a lot softer, either. Oh well.

"So, is it? Who told you about me?" Err… this is not a deranged glistening in her eyes that I just saw, right? It's just a trick of the light.

"Why… Orion, of course. He said… that you are a… very interesting and entertaining person." Whoa, bending the truth so hard it nearly snaps. And Aunt Carina is _still_ not particularly amused.

"Interesting and entertaining? Did he say that? Strange… the way I remember it, little Orion Yaxley always used to call one of his disgusting little elf friends and scamper off whenever he caught sight of me." Note to self: Ask Orion what she means with "little elf friends". Well, if you make it to the dinner room in this century, that is. Because… definitely a little insanity glittering in her eyes now.

"I'm… sure age taught him to become wiser about his fears and uh…" Her mouth contorts itself into something that could be a smile, but it doesn't even reach her eyes. In them there's something clearly twisted now. Merlin, why can't she be more like our Fat Friar and less like the Bloody Baron?

"Little Miss Lavinia McNeil, guest of the house… you are a little disgusting half-blood, you know that? When _I_ still lived, people like you wouldn't even have made it alive to the front gate and I think I will…" _I_ think I will call a house elf now, embarrassing as it is. But this woman doesn't just give me the creeps, she's giving me the _creeps_ creeps.

"Bongo! I…. err… might need your…" a plop, and suddenly the house elf that is obviously Orion's favourite one appears beside me, "help. Thank you for…"

He bows before me and this situation is becoming increasingly absurd. "Master Orion told me to answer all your calls. I only do my master's bidding." Oh… great.

"That's… great… listen, Bongo, I think I may have… errr… taken a wrong turn and…"

"Oh no, you've taken the right turn, love. It leads straight to the dungeons, where we used to…" Merlin, lady, go pester someone else. No wonder someone hated you enough to kill you.

"Yeah, okay, maybe. Bongo, can you show me the way to the dinner room?" He just bows and beckons me to follow him into the branch-off. Behind us a slightly deranged laughter is ringing.

"Still, after all those years you half-bloods are all the same dim-wits. Sometimes I wonder if dear Orion isn't one himself…" Where's a basilisk if you need one? This woman could surely use some to shut her up right now. For a while we wander through the halls, thankfully without stumbling over any other insane relatives of Orion's and if I don't look at all the pictures close enough, they actually leave me alone.

Then suddenly, there's another glow, and I hear another voice. "... take better care of your inheritance. The second floor is running to seed already." This time it's an older man, a demanding tone… even a little acidic. Bongo wants me to follow him, but I hold him back. I absolutely do _not_ want to run into an argument between two ghosts or something.

"With all due respect, father, it was already..." Oh, okay, no ghosts, providing Orion didn't turn into one in the last hours. So... this old man obviously is his father. But didn't he say his parents were… dead? Oh, wait, maybe he's talking to a ghost.

"How dare you insult me after you haven't paid me a visit on Christmas for years!" Mh. Something's afoot here. He didn't visit this house on Christmas? And here I thought Mr and Mrs Yaxley would return to the country every year to celebrate the Yuletide gaily and…

"Father, please, you know..." He didn't just beg, did he? In all the time I've known Orion he cajoled, shouted, ordered, bended the truth… and did a thousand other things to get what he wanted. But he never _begged_.

"And what did you_ think_ when you brought that half-blood on your visits to the tenants?" What the… why does half the house already know about my ancestry? Do they have some secret pureblood detector installed somewhere or what?

"I… she's just a friend…" Oooh… just a "friend"… wait, why do I even get worked up about that? Not like I…

"You're a disgrace to this family, son! You'll never step into the footsteps of your ancestors. Never! Do you hear me?" _This_ was _not_ nice, Mr Yaxley Sr. Seriously, what is _wrong_ with you? And why did Orion never tell me his father obviously _hated_ him? Oh… mh… maybe because Mr Yaxley Jr. had serious issues with trust and pride, back at Hogwarts. Or, okay, still has them.

Instead of answering, suddenly a door is slammed shut and I hear Orion grumble: "Why am I even talking to that stupid portrait?" Bongo beckons me to follow him again, this time a little desperately, and this time I comply. Very, very cautious I make my way over to a seemingly agitated Orion. I mean, he's not _really_ looking agitated, just very rigid and _very_ controlled. It usually means he's going to erupt sooner or later. I clear my throat to make my presence known and he whips around. Oops.

Bongo rushes forward, obviously not afraid like a good house elf in a Slytherin pureblood household should be. Mh. "Is Master alright?" Orion just nods at him, tells him not to worry, then turns to me, frowning.

"Have you been listening?" Argh. Dammit. Or… wait. He didn't sound really angry now… rather a little worried. I have two options now. Lie to him and risk that he'll ask Bongo later or tell him outright and face his wrath right here.

"I… yes. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, you know, we just kinda stumbled across you and…" He waves it off and starts to walk without another comment. After we've walked a few steps in silence he starts to speak again.

"I'm sorry for that halfblood comment, my father... he'll always resent halfbloods for outperforming him at the ministry. I just... he'll never let me take my own decisions. Even after his death." I'm a little taken aback. Orion never used to give away private information. In fact I just learned more about the relationship between his father and him than I learned in our time at Hogwarts. For a moment I have no idea how to react.

"Oh… you know, it's no big deal. Really, I'm used to that kind of comments. Remember Hogwarts, when one of those Ravenclaw kids from the year above us wouldn't stop bugging me about it?" But he doesn't even listen to me, just keeps on rambling.

"After they died, I did everything I could to set things right. I was barely twenty years old, how was I supposed to take over everything at once? But he's never been grateful! Not for keeping the story low, not for turning those in that were responsible for the attack – he wasn't even proud of me when I became second-editor-in-chief! And it's only a stupid portrait! It's not even really him. He would be worse if he was still around." He opens the door to the dining room and wants to sit down, but okay… this is a little too much now, and it's also a little to fast. I hold up both hands in an attempt to stop him.

"Whoa, wait, slow down! Attack? What exactly happened to your parents? What's this "keeping the story low"-stuff?" He blinks, then seems to register that I'm still with him. Thank you. Only took you all the way to the dining room.

"Oh, I'm sorry, of course, you wouldn't know..." No, I wouldn't since you obviously "kept the story low"… He seems to be thinking, then says: "Do you mind going to another room for that? One that's a little more comfortable?" I take a look at the dining room which suddenly really seems to be way too big for just two persons. I shake my head.

"Bongo, could you bring our food to the small salon?" The elf nods without any comment and again I'm surprised how easy the relationship seems to be between the two of them. Sure, it's still very clear who's the elf and who's the master, but there's nothing of the cowering fear in Bongo that I've seen in other house elves.

He asks me to follow him and a little while later we've reached the small salon we'd been talking in earlier. I'd instantaneously grown to love it, with the fireplace and the big plush sofa and the two armchairs at either side. There are coats of arms and plaids and books and even a beautifully decorated Christmas tree… I love it. I can even imagine just sitting here and reading away the day… no use going there. This is most probably the one and only time I'll ever visit Yaxley Manor.

There's no artificial light in the room, just the flickering from the fireplace and a few candles, and so I can't really see Orion's face when we both sit down on the sofa and he starts to tell his story. "Six years ago, I had to work on Christmas Eve. Maybe you remember, there had been a series of attacks on Muggles down South. My wife and I had been planning to spend the entire Christmas Holidays with my parents, but I had to cancel last minute. When I was still busy researching in the South, I got an urgent message to get back here, because...," he pauses and I'm actually a little afraid of what will come next. "the tenants had seen the Dark Mark rising above our house. I turned back immediately, of course, but the time I came here... everything was quiet. Only the Mark above the house... the entrance hall was completely ruined... all the Christmas decoration shattered and scattered around and... my parent's bodies on the floor." An audible gulp, and I so want to put an arm around his shoulder. But for some reason I stay where I am. "It was... it was the most disturbing sight I've ever seen." I can imagine _that_. "And I've seen many Death Eater attacks." Okay… I _can't_ imagine that, actually.

He takes a short breath, and I so want to say _something_ or _do_ something, but I don't dare to, because he seems absolutely focused on what he wants to tell me, and I have the feeling that if I'd cut in now, he'd stop talking about it. So I stay where I am, silent. "Being part of the Daily Prophet's political department and friends with some very influential people at the Ministery", insert proud look here, "I managed to keep the story away from the press... it never made more than a newslet. But suddenly, I was in charge of basically everything: the house, the tenants, the elves and the grounds; but I also wanted to find the culprits. As soon as I had made sure that my wife hadn't been harmed – she had decided to stay in London after I had to work – I started researching." He pauses again and this time he throws me a wary look. Maybe I should…

"I guess I hadn't slept for three nights after the incident and already by New Year I had uncovered the crucial parts of the truth." Okay, maybe not. A sigh from him, though. "It had been even more shocking than I could have imagined." Now, silence.

I try to say something, but I need three attempts to get started. "What… what happened?" Argh. I really hadn't meant to sound_so_ timid. He looks at me, very shortly, with a strange glint in his eyes. When he continues, he doesn't look at me, and his voice sound strangled.

"My father has been betrayed by his own brother. My uncle Corvus Yaxley. I made sure he went to Azkaban without parole. As far as I know, he's still there. Nobody else could have leaded them to the house, the protections are too strong, but they obviously are ineffective against relatives. But that's not all..." Sheesh, it's _not_? Life's been a lot more unkind to Orion Yaxley than I actually thought.

"I discovered the true loyalty of my parents-in-law, the Maycrofts." Pregnant silence. As in Silence. I do think that I do _not_ want to hear what will inevitably come now. "They were... Death Eaters." More Silence. Clearing his throat. Holy… Jesus… Bloody… Christ. "In fact, they hadn't just earned themselves a life-sentence in Azkaban, it had also been the end of their fortune and with that, the inheritance and the good name of... my wife." Another pause. He seems very… exhausted now. "I suppose she's still not over it, she wanted... no, begged me to spare them. But how could I? Her parents killed my parents – and they had planned to... to get... _me_, too. That night. If I hadn't been... if I hadn't worked, I would be... as dead as my parents." The last part is whispered so soft I have actually difficulties to understand it. But I do, and I have _no_ idea what to say.

I wish I had, though, because he looks so distraught, exhausted and drained. So much like he still isn't really sure if for a few moments he had wanted to be dead as well, back all those years ago. Suddenly the crackling of the fire in front of us seems to be very loud. Very, _very_ tentatively I place a hand on his shoulder. He twitches a little, but all the rest of him is as controlled as ever, wound tight. I take a deep breath. "But you aren't. And it's not your fault your parents are dead."

"No, it's not. But... I don't know... it's hard sometimes, not having them around anymore... on the other hand... I... please don't get it wrong, I... do miss them... badly... only, sometimes... sometimes it hadn't been all bad, being able to... you know... take my own decision without having my father to answer to, if I wanted it or not." Yeah, I've heard that. If the real life version of Yaxley Sr. was anything like the portrait version it must have been kinda hard to fulfil all the expectations. I think I'm very, very lucky not to be born into the pureblood aristocracy.

But I think I should distract him a little. "What about… your mother?"

"My mother?" A pause, as if he has to try hard to remember her. Okay. What's _wrong_ with this family? "I... I can't picture her without him. She was just... she did everything he wanted her to do. Every time she had been nice to me and he noticed, he told her not to "spoil the boy". I don't know what would have happened if... you know... they had... spared her. Needless to waste thoughts on it... she's gone, too. She probably wouldn't have survived without him anyway." Errr… seriously… some families, you know… _some_ families. I try to picture my mother like that, docile, humble, quiet… no way. Just can't. _Not_ Mum.

Then he sits up again and you can actually see how he steels his face to paper up all the cracks that have appeared. But sorry, Mr. Yaxley, now that I've seen that there's more to you than sharp wit, pride and snarkiness you won't ever be the same for me. "Have there been any... casualties... in your family?"

_Orion:_

As soon as the question was out I knew it had been wrong. Of course there had been casualties in her family, her husband, remember? I frown. It's just... I have never talked to _anyone_ about my parents. I'm still feeling a little weird; confused, even a slight bit relieved, that I had finally told the story. It was out at last.

Only... I almost couldn't bear it anymore just now; Lavinia asking about my mother, constantly thinking about my father. The months, years, after they had been murdered had been rough. The question was supposed to distract her and me, too, probably. It should have given it some time to sink in, given me some time to get my thoughts straight.

I force myself to look up, actually look sideways at her. How many times do I have to put my foot in it before I learn? "No... no casualties. At least no others than... Tony." She always gets kind of rigid when she speaks his name. And she's avoiding my gaze, staring into the darkness. I'm feeling something like a small jolt in my stomach. What is it... guilt?

She seems unreal, here in front of me, lighted by the nervous flickering of the fire. "I'm sorry", it comes out as barely more than a whisper. If the circumstances had been different, I would maybe have tried to distract her. But there is something in the warm glow of the fire and the way she had just listened to me about my parents that makes me want to go on. "I didn't want to remind you of... him."

"No... no, it's okay. Really. By now... I should have learned to react normally to that topic." Suddenly, she's looking back at me, trying to pretend everything was okay. You have to work on that if you're trying to fool me, Lavinia. Her entire body is telling a different story. She's tucked up her legs, putting her arms around her shanks like she wanted to protect herself.

I can't help but slowly shake my head. "Why?" I have to resist the urge to move closer to her, maybe putting my arms around her instead of her hugging herself. I shouldn't think of that. Right, maybe I've moved just a little closer after all.

Instead of answering, she's looking back into the fire, putting her chin on her knees. "Well, why... because it's been five years now. And, as one of my aunts pointed out to me" – is it just me or is there a slightly ironic undertone to that? – "five years is much too long a time to remain a widow for women my age."

"Really? I didn't know there were limits to that", for a moment I'm relieved. This would be the possibility to elude the subject, again, if I wanted to. I'm even tempted to let it rest like every time it had come up in the past months. But I feel like it won't do this time. I'm truely in a strange mood today. "You never talk about him." It's not a question, not even an invitation. It's nothing more than a statement. I try to establish eye contact again.

I can't say I'm very successful at this, though. She's still staring into the fire, taking a deep breath before replying me. "Well, there's not much to talk about there, anyway." Yes, sure. Nothing at all is bothering you, everything is just fine. I follow her gaze and start watching the flames move in the fireplace as well. The room is completely silent, apart from the occasional cracks of the wood and the crackling of the fire. It doesn't feel as awkward to me as silence normally does.

I'm torn again between leaving the subject, because she's obviously unable to talk about it and trying to encourage her to do it anyway. Before I'm fully noticing it, I have moved even closer to her and put my arm over her shoulder. "Would you tell me how it happened?" I'm almost whispering again.

She's extremely tense, I suddenly realise. She continues staring into the fire, almost like she's ignoring me. After a moment, I can feel that she's relaxing a bit. I'm almost relieved that she didn't get upset. "Actually... I don't really know how it happened. I just... never asked the survivors."

Surprised, I turn to look at her. She never asked? Didn't she want to know? If it had been my wife... okay, maybe not under current circumstances... I would have wanted to find out everything – like I did with my parents. How could she stand it, not knowing?

"You didn't?" I'm holding back the obvious "why".

She's giving me that annoying "isn't it obvious"-look, stating "That's what I just said, isn't it?" I roll my eyes. I'm just trying to be helpful, but she... just when I'm about to get worked up on her un-cooperativeness, she's getting serious again. "Sorry, couldn't resist. No, I didn't. It just..." Now, she's taking a deep breath, "hurt enough already. One day he was there, joking around, telling me that this time it _really_ was his last assignment and the next... he just wasn't there anymore."

Phew... that must be...bad. And it's just the kind of thing your average Gryffindor would do, recklessly putting himself in danger. I don't even notice at first that I'm looking intensely at Lavinia in the darkening light. She has just reminded me of that night the first day of our sixth year at Hogwarts, when I had found her motionless at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. We had to start a fire there, too, to get away from the wolves... It hadn't just marked the beginning of our friendship – it had also caused me repeating nightmares for years.

If Tony, stupid Gryffindor, hadn't chosen to associate with her in public, he would probably still be among us now. Or have died a hero without leaving a widow. And maybe, if he had acted like a decent person... we wouldn't be sitting here licking our wounds. But there has never been a point in pondering too much over past decisions. "He shouldn't have done it", is all I finally say.

She's looking up at me suspiciously... maybe a little surprised. "Why are you saying that? It was his _duty_ to do it. There never even has been a question about that", she's saying very bluntly. I look back at her. Allow me to disagree...

"No", I say calmly, "it was a choice." One, I personally deemed too risky. There had been a reason why we only met in broom cupboards at Hogwarts. Well, maybe the fact that she is a halfblood may have worked to her disadvantage, as well. But that's not the topic now, is it?

She turns to me so that she's facing me now, sitting entirely on the couch, legs still tucked up, obviously putting distance between us. "Are you... what are you implying, Orion?" she's asking, maybe even a little angry. I wouldn't blame her, but all I'm saying is...

"Let me tell you something... my parents for instance, they died because they had refused to join the Death Eaters. It had been a choice. It's the same for your husband", I take a deep breath and look her straight into the eyes. "I'm sorry to be so direct, but he's not only a victim of the war. You both knew there was an angry Death Eater on the trail of any man who would associate with you. You were aware of the risk it involved fighting against the Death Eaters. He chose to fight, anyway. It's tragic, but it hasn't been inevitable." I'm preparing to be jinxed by her any minute now.

Apparently, she's not jinxing me. But she has to take a rather deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm when she speaks. "Are you saying that he... that it was _his_ fault he died?" Maybe the jinxing-part is only postponed after all. I don't know what devil is riding me that I even got involved in this discussion.

"No, not entirely anyway. He didn't kill himself, but you obviously both knew what was at stake and he still took the risk." I'm taking a deep breath again and casually point my wand at the fire to put some more logs on it. "Did you approve of it? Didn't you just say he had told you over again it would be the last time he'd do it?"

Obviously agitated, she's brushing some loose strands of her hair out of her face without looking at me. "I... I don't know if "approved" is the right word. He was fighting for the good of all of us, what... what right had I to challenge _that_?" See? We're getting somewhere.

"But you would have liked to?"

"Of course I would have liked to!" she cries. I have to hide my smile, because she's suddenly aware of what she just said and tries to get back into bearing. Now, her arms are on her knees again and she's taking deep breaths to calm herself down. "I mean... which wife wouldn't?"

I can't keep myself from smiling slightly at her. Yes... who wouldn't? Guess what, heroes are human, too... "Did you tell him that?" I eye her up intensely. Suddenly, I realise that I actually started interviewing her. Stupid job.

It takes some time until I realise that Lavinia isn't staring into the fire anymore. She's looking out of the window, even though it is a pointless thing to do as it is completely dark outside. I can't help watching her. The light makes her features look soft, almost blurred. It's... almost beautiful. I only stop when she's looking back at me, a little resigned.

She sounds entirely calm when she's speaking again. "No, I didn't. And before you ask: Yes, now I regret it. It's just that... I always... I always felt like he was... making a difference, while I was just... I was just me. I played and I went to training and press conferences... while other people were in danger, protecting people like me."

"But he promised you he would stop it and he didn't", our eyes meet and I'm smiling vaguely. "Who knows if he really made a difference?" I'm not even hesitating to put my hand on her knee and her hand. "You have the right to be mad at him. At least for not keeping the promises he gave you." Maybe... it's good for me, though, that he didn't, it crosses my mind. _That's selfish_. Yet... it's probably true. Just don't get confused now.

After a glance at my hand, that's still lying on hers, she's looking at me again, _not_ retiring hers. "First of all: He _did_ make a difference. Let's not get inter-House conflicts cloud our judgment, mh? - Look... he... he had his reasons for not sticking to what he said. I mean, it wasn't about having a picknick on Sunday or something... it was about fighting for other people. How could _I_ compete with that?"

"If you insist on being miserable, I can't do anything about it. He was married to you, though, not to the other people, wasn't he?" I pause and grin. "And it hasn't anything to do with inter-House conflicts. A lot of Slytherins have turned out to be incredibly stupid. – Doesn't make Gryffindors' flaws any better, though."

As a reaction to my last comment, she's hitting me with her free hand and sticking her tongue out at me. I relax, but she's already serious again, when she starts speaking. "Tony and I... Orion, you were right, I knew what I was doing when I married him. Actually, the prospect that he was going to fight against the Death Eaters was one of the reasons I married him so soon after School." That's a strange reason not to wait to get married. I mean, I got married to stop my father's pestering remarks about what he saw as my obligations towards the family. Maybe not the best reason either.

Suddenly, I notice that Lavinia absentmindedly started to play with the fingers of my hand. Then, she's looking sideways at me again. "Doesn't mean I didn't worry when he was away, though", she's speaking in a low voice, almost a little grumpy. I grasp her wrist and hold her hand a bit firmer to make her stop playing with my fingers - it started to make me nervous.

"I don't understand. How could that be a reason to get married right away?"

After an odd pause, where she seems to be slightly confused, she's answering. "I didn't want to waste time, and neither did he. And maybe... maybe I thought that if we were married, I could... keep him... I'm talking major rubbish here", obviously annoyed at herself, she wants to throw up her hand, but I'm still holding it. Quiet now.

"Keep him from getting himself in danger?" Maybe I should stop pushing the subject... but I can't, it's too interesting.

"Something... like that. Somewhere in the back of my mind I had this stupid feeling that being married to me made him kind of... invincible... this actually sounds bloody stupid. And anyway, why do you make me expose myself like that, huh?"

That question got me totally unprepared. I'm even staring at her for a moment – until I realised what I was doing, that is. We had such intimate conversations on some glorious occasions back at Hogwarts. "Nostalgia", is consequently all I say at first. And it's not completely true, because there's something else, something I just can't put a name on, something besides my normal curiosity. "Or... maybe I don't want you to be trapped in the past forever." Did I just say that aloud?

I obviously did say it aloud, because she's smiling at me now in a... new way. I can feel her hand stroking over my temple. "I don't want _you_ to be trapped in the past either." I'm smiling back at her. Forgetting the past is an excellent idea. I catch myself moving closer to her, bending down... when her stomach is unceremonially rumbling. I startle.

"Oh crap!" I'm beside myself. "I apologise. I'm such a bad host. You must be starving!" If my father were here, how would he blame me for that! "Bongo" – the house elf appears with a cracking noise, I hadn't even noticed he had left earlier. "Warm up dinner again. How could I forget?" The house elf is looking at me smiling. "Bongo has kept it warm for you, master." And with that, he brings the plates with our meal, even two glasses of wine and everything. Isn't it wonderful? "I honestly don't know how you can permanently live without house elves", I say to Lavinia and notice that Bongo is standing beside the sofa, swollen with pride.

"Oh well... just about now I'm wondering that myself. What was it you said about dinner?" I give her one of the glasses of wine and pull the table closer to the sofa. Bongo has light the candles of the Christmas tree.

"Bon appétit", I say and lift the glass to speak a toast. "Let's leave the past behind." I'm feeling light-headed, even without the wine; but this strange... moment we had just before is gone. She's toasting back: "To a past left behind."

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**A/N: **There we are again. We actually really enjoyed writing this chapter and hope you like to read it as much as we liked to write it :)

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	25. Chapter 25

**Twenty-****Five**

"_A cool breeze flows but mind the wasp  
Some get stung it's worth the cost  
I'd love to stay  
The city calls me home  
More hassles fuss and lies on the phone."_

_Morcheeba, "The Sea"_

* * *

_ Lavinia:_

Mh… I know I should open my eyes, because I'm dimly aware of the fact that I'm not sleeping anymore, and not in a bed at that. But the pillow seems warm and there's a blanket and just the general feeling of not wanting to fully wake up just yet. So I just put my hand on the pillow and wriggle a little under the blanket; which is when I realize that something else is lying on my shoulder. Something warm and… Now I _do_ open my eyes and look directly at the dying fire in the fireplace. Wait. That means I'm _not_ in my bedroom. And under my head is _not_ a pillow. Oops.

Still a little dazed from sleep I sit up and look at a very awake Orion. "Good morning", he drawls and gives me a little half-smile. Now I remember how I fell asleep. With my head in his lap and his hand on my shoulder. That was… nice.

I try a little smile myself. "Good morning." Then I realize that he seems a lot more awake than I, which means that… he must have been sitting here for quite some time, with nothing more to do than… well, sitting here. Oh. "Look, I'm sorry… I should have…"

Before I can continue, the smug half-smile vanishes and he looks a little awkward. Then: "It's okay. I should be sorry. You're my guest and I let you sleep on the sofa." Oh, the stiff aristocrat is back again. It seems like he's the automatic response when something he doesn't know how to react to happens to Orion. I want to say something, but he just claps in his hand and calls two of his house elves. The inevitable Bongo and one that's called Fifi.

The two appear and Orion tells them: "Bongo, accompany Mrs. McNeil to her room and to the morning room on the first floor. Fifi, I need breakfast there ready in about half an hour." I want to protest but then I remember the encounter with Aunt Carina and suddenly I have nothing against being escorted by Bongo. He turns back to me. "Do you wish anything in particular for breakfast?"

Mh. Do I? Oh well. I think I haven't had a proper English country breakfast in… _ages_. I grin. "Oh yes. Toast and beans and sausages and… well, the whole nine yards. All this country breakfast stuff." Orion doesn't say anything, just sends Fifi a pointed look and waves his hand at him. With a plop the elf disappears, whereas Orion suddenly jumps up and excuses himself to his room. What the…? Oh. _Oh_. Mr Yaxley is a little embarrassed that we fell asleep on the couch together. Just like back at School in the broom closet… Oh well. I turn to Bongo.

"Hey, uh… well, let's go to my room, huh?" The elf doesn't say anything, just bows and I get up to follow him. While he leads me through the corridors with all those portraits that send me creepy looks and everything I wonder again about those things Aunt Carina said to me. The one with Orion and "his disgusting little elf friends" somehow stuck in my brain. Maybe… maybe I should just grab the bull by its horns and ask about it. At least it's worth a try.

"Bongo… how long have you been… employed in the Yaxley household?" The little elf puffs up and indeed seems to become a little taller than before.

"Since my birth, Mrs. McNeil." His voice is ridden with pride, and there's no mistaking that he sees it as one big privilege to serve the Yaxleys. Oh well. I'll… never understand house elves, I guess.

"And… how long have you been serving Orion?" Easy now, McNeil, one question at a time.

"Since Master Orion's birth." If this wasn't a house elf – a creature that is known for its servitude and subservience – I would have said that this sounded indignant. I could even almost hear the "What else did you think, you stupid human?" I clear my throat.

"Oh that's… pretty long." Now, the right question. How to phrase this right for a house elf obviously very loyal and very dedicated to his master? "Did he… no, wait. Um… what was he like when he was a kid? You know, before he came to Hogwarts?" Come on, tell me what I want to know. Tell me he had a happy childhood, with more toys than any kid could ever play with. Tell me he didn't have to rely only on his house elves to feel loved and accepted.

He doesn't answer straight away, though. He throws me a look that's a little wary and then finally says: "Bongo cannot answer that, Mrs. McNeil has to ask Master himself." Oh. Bugger. Obviously a_very_ loyal and discreet house elf. Which makes me wonder… does he _care_ for Orion? And where does this come from? I realise that are a lot of things I still don't know about Orion.

I want to tell him I didn't mean to pry, but we have arrived at my room, and he bows. A little awkwardly I thank him, somehow hoping he won't tell Orion what I asked him or even hold it against me that I had the impertinence to use him to find out something about his master. With a sigh I enter the room.

When I'm done with my morning routine I clear my throat and call for Bongo again. I still feel weird doing this because it's just so…_pure-blood_, but he doesn't really give me time to actually dwell on the feeling because he apparates right in front of me. We set off for the morning room. Okay, McNeil. Your last chance to ask him. And don't blow it this time or else you will _always_ feel terribly embarrassed when being in a room with this elf.

"Bongo… Master Orion… he thinks a great deal of you, doesn't he?" He puffs up again. Oi.

"Bongo is hoping it. Master has always entrusted Bongo with very important missions." Very important…? Merlin, I'm _dying_ to know what he means with that, but I bet he won't tell me. Bugger. And seems I actually have no idea about the relationship between house elf and master. It surely doesn't seem as if Orion is mistreating Bongo in any way or as if Bongo feels enslaved. I'd_love_ to ask him if he ever thought about how it would be to be free but I have an inkling that he doesn't even know that he actually isn't free. Okay… well then, say something else.

"Wow, that's great. I take it you like your master?" He gives me one of these not-indignant looks again – I mean, one of these looks that would be indignant if he wasn't a house elf, because house elves don't give guests indignant looks.

"Of course!" He even raises his voice a little, and that tells me that I just nearly insulted this little fellow mortally. Then he suddenly looks away from me and adds "Master_Orion_ is a very kind master." and I wonder why he puts so much emphasis on Orion's name. Seems he knew another master who wasn't kind. Merlin, this house is so full of riddles and intrigue and strange paintings and ghosts… I think I can understand why Orion chose to take up my offer. _I_ would have done it if I'd been in his position.

Then Bongo stops, bows and magically opens the door in front of us, saying: "The morning room, Mrs McNeil." Curious, I enter and… fall in love with the room as much as I did with the small salon downstairs. Instead of a fireplace there's a big blue and white tiled stove in one corner, and the light of the rising sun filters through the windows on the other side. There's even a window bay with a padded window seat and cushions… outside there's still some fog on the ground and the pale winter sun… and the sea. I can't help myself and before I know it I've already blurted out: "Oh, it's beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it. Take a seat." I jump a little. Argh. Nearly forgot Orion was in the room, too. He's standing beside the table – Merlin, the table's laid out with beautiful porcelain and looking exactly like I always envisioned it when I read about 19th century meals in those Jane Austen or Bronte novels – and smiles his smug little half-smile again. What's so funny, mister, huh? Oh well. It's still too early to get sarcastic and snappy.

I walk over to the table and immediately he rushes to the chair and pulls it out for me. Argh. Why the hell does he have to be so bloody well-mannered? That always makes me feel so weird; which is why I can barely hold back a grimace when I thank him. When we're both seated – thoughtful host that he is he places me at his right side, directly facing the windows and the sea-view – he gestures towards food on the table and tells me to serve myself. Then he raises his eyebrow and says: "So, what are your plans for today? You still haven't seen the seaside." A short look outside which I follow. No, I haven't.

I put some toast and backed beans on my plate and answer: "Mh, nope. But I'd love to. I mean… you… don't happen to… have some time for a walk?" Sheesh, McNeil, what are you? Fifteen?

He doesn't look at me, just gives me an absentmindedly sounding "Certainly not." For a moment, I actually feel crestfallen, but then I see that he struggles to keep his face straight while cutting some bacon. The… bastard. A well-placed hit on his arms makes the gleeful grin that had been developing disappear. I stick out my tongue.

"Serves you right for trying to twit me." He does look a little shocked there. Probably hasn't seen many women sticking out their tongue at him for quite some time. Mh… come to think of it… maybe he's_never_ seen a woman stick out his tongue at him. I mean, like _this_. I… won't think about _other_ occasions involving tongues… _Merlin_, McNeil, get a bloody _grip_. Suddenly… he's laughing. I mean, _really_ laughing. Not this sophisticated sarcastic sound he usually makes or this humourless parody of a laugh… no, a real heartfelt laugh. Second time in two days, at that. Honestly can't remember having heard him laugh like this so often before.

In a mock insulted tone I ask him: "What's so funny now?"

He's still laughing a little – even wiping his eyes – when he answers me: "You actually believed me there, for a moment. I've merely tried to figure out what important business I could have... The second day of Christmas?"

For a moment I'm tempted to remind him that he still has a wife which might require him to spend at least a small amount of his time with her on Christmas – at least that's what's considered to be proper, and Orion always likes to do things considered proper. But apart from the fact that this is hardly fair I have absolutely _no_ desire to even _think_ about the tiny little fact that he's still married. So I resort to the thing that's obviously most important to him: His work.

Seeming to take more interest in my scrambled eggs than I actually have, I shrug and say: "Well… since your work _is_ very important to you I figured you might… want to catch up on all those important news you missed the last days or something. I mean… you practically _live_ for your work."

He puts away his cutlery and is totally sober now again. Obviously something I said was not the right thing. I let my hands sink down and risk a look at him. He opens his mouth, wants to say something… but closes it again, only to give me a little self-ironic smile. "If you weren't here today, I would probably have done that. But I assure you, I prefer taking a walk with you on the seaside. So... that's settled." Oh. Uh… huh? And here I thought he'd take his work over _everyone_. Must have been a wrong assumption. Maybe I just misjudged his dedication to his work a little.

"Good. I trust you to know where to take a lady to." He doesn't say anything, just looks away and… is that a blush I see creeping up his face in the morning sun? Huh? What's this supposed to mean? I mean… he _is_ a gentleman, and I always thought gentlemen knew how to treat a lady. He clears his throat and between two bites of buttered toast he says: "We'll see." Oh well. After a short pause he finally seems to have collected himself again and says: "What about you? Do you have to go back to your family?"

Ah… not the best change of topic, Mr Yaxley. Now it's me who's clearing her throat. "Erm… well… yes. I promised my parents and grandpa I'd be back after the wolf pack's left, so… yes, I think I'll visit them tomorrow." I want to add "What about you?" but that would bring about the inevitable wife-topic, and I'm still not in the mood for talking about her. I doubt I'll ever be and that slightly disturbs me.

He's taken up eating again, but his interest seems to have been peaked by something. "The wolf pack?" He raises one of his eyebrows. I sigh.

"Well… aunts and uncles and cousins… and everyone either intent on cheering me up or giving me advice on every aspect of my life. Or trying to find out about the latest Quidditch transfers and stuff like that. Have you never been to family gatherings? I mean… the Yaxleys aren't exactly a small family, are they?"

He waves his hand dismissively and just tells me: "Oh, you know... keeping up appearances..." Not many words, but I think I got to know him well enough to know that there's a lot more to that whole topic than he lets on. Mh… should I press my luck a little? Ah… what the hell.

"You really want to tell me you haven't had those family meetings with lots of raucous children running around and adults talking about the latest family gossip like who married whom, who died, who's expecting and everyone eating lots of stuff and all that?" I eye him a little incredulously when he actually shakes his head.

"No. It was rather sitting upright around a large table, discussing very politely all the important events inside and outside of the family and lamenting the loss of prestige of the pureblood families in general and the Yaxley family in particular." The last part is said in a slightly ironic tone. My, my, Yaxley, mocking your own pure-blood peers… and _family_ at that? Who would've thought?

"So… in short you did the same thing we do but without all the fun?" Argh. Can't you just for _once_ keep your big mouth shut, McNeil? You did so well until now. And now you have to go and spoil it all.

I already want to speak up and apologise, when his mouth quirks into a resigned smile. "Exactly." Then he takes up his napkin, throws a look out of the window and says: "If you don't mind I'd like to get out soon, while the sunshine lasts." Well, an elegant way to cut a topic short. But I don't mind since I'm done as well and actually dying to get outside to the clear winter air and the stiff sea breeze. I take up my napkin as well.

"You're right, we should. I'm finished anyway."

_Orion:_

Shortly after breakfast, we're standing in front of the house in the cold winter morning. I squint in the bright sunlight reflected in the mist. I'm glad we've got something to do to forget the awkward situation that had arisen after we had fallen asleep on the sofa of the small salon. I don't know how it had happened. Somehow, it seems we had been so tired after our late meal that we… forgot to get up or something. If my father would know… my, how furious would he be.

We can't change that, however, so there's no use in dwelling on it any longer. I take a deep breath and glance sideways at Lavinia. "There are of course several different ways to get to the seaside, but if you allow me, I'd like to show you one of my favourites… one I made myself when I was younger."

She isn't answering right away and I can clearly see that she's holding back some sort of no doubt snide remark. Then, it comes, anyway: "You... or the house elves?" I start walking towards the stables and roll my eyes.

"Prejudice, my dear", I say, opening the small gates to the pasture behind it. Small patches of last week's snow are still covering it; it would be muddy if it wasn't frozen. "Believe it or not, I'm actually able to do some things on my own."

With that, I'm leading her on the path or rather small imprint in the meadow that's my own secret pathway to the beach. "Oh, I know you are. I was just under the impression you don't _want_ to", it comes from behind.

We're now slowly following the serpentine path that eventually leads on the embankment that's holding back the sea on high water. "I'm in the advantageous position to be able to choose what I_ want_ to do. Making paths used to be fun… more fun than staying indoors, listening to my parents pushing around house elves for no reason." Commenting on my intolerable behaviour is more likely, but I'm not going to tell her that. Lavinia has already heard enough complaints about my late parents.

"You know..." her voice sounds reflective, "for some reason I always thought being a rich kid practically determined one to have a fantastic childhood". I actually stop short and slightly turn around to look at her.

"It depends on how you define a fantastic childhood." I say, smiling vaguely. I step aside and offer her my hand to help her over the last big step that would bring us on the road that runs on the embankment.

I half expected her to refuse my help, but she silently takes my hand and reaches the road first. There's a freezing cold sea breeze blowing up there. I'm surprised Lavinia doesn't mind the cold. She's standing there firmly, watching the still distant waves breaking on the beach, her long red hair streaming in the wind. I'm reluctant to destroy this view by climbing up myself.

When I'm standing beside her, she's smiling and even thanking me for my help. That's a change in attitude! But while we're walking on, downwards on the other side, she's taking up the topic again: "Oh... you know, tons of toys, the fastest brooms, the coolest trips, the most beautiful Christmas trees..."

I have to catch up with her before I answer. I'm smirking at her when she looks back at me. "That's how you've imagined it?" I pretend to think hard. "Let's see… my father didn't approve of toys, they were only littering the house, we had horses, no brooms, that was more the expertise of…" I stop short. I have to take more care. I nearly told her… it's with all the talk about childhood, you get carried away… before she's able to say something, I accelerate my pace and continue talking as if I hadn't just stopped in mid-sentence. "My parents didn't like travelling around, we've normally only visited distant relations and important connections… but with Christmas trees you're right, I assume. My mother always saw to that."

Beside me, Lavinia sighs. "Mh. One out of four. A pity. But... you didn't have to sit around that dreary big house all the time, did you?" I laugh and jump down the last few steps of the stairs that lead to the beach. I give Lavinia an encouraging look.

"Why do you think I liked making paths? Come on, I have to show you something." It's enormous fun having someone here with me again. I don't know for how many years I have come here alone. Bryony had never particularly warmed up for the place.

Instead of jumping like I did, Lavinia walks down the steps, rather dignified. She seems a bit sceptical over all: "Show me something? It's not some demented family ghost, right?"

I frown. "I take you've already met Aunt Carina. She's, to my knowledge, the only ghost under our roof", I'm not sure if she had been serious, I doubt it, but leave it. "I want to show you my beach house… well, cabin", I indicate the small house standing at the shore in the distance. Its white paint is peeling off all around it and the three window fronts to the south, east and north, need cleaning, but it still looks beautiful to me.

"If you are so eager to know where we have spent our time in childhood… this is the answer". There's no answer at first and Lavinia seems a little startled.

I'm already trying to figure out what it could mean when she finally talks again, very non-committal: "Well... uh... looks... cosy."

Right. Doesn't she like it? "I should of course send the house-elves to clean it if I wanted to use it more frequently in the future, it used to be in a better condition", I say and open the door to let her enter. It has only a small table, two armchairs and a long bench in it, along with a closed cupboard where we used to hide our little treasures and the moulds and blades for the sand.

Unconsciously, I smile at the memory of this place, then I suddenly get the impression that I've let Lavinia see quite enough of my past. So while I sit down in my usual armchair and look out on the agitated sea, I ask her: "How did you spend your childhood?"

Instead of answering, she's walking to the window, looking out. When she turns to me again, she shrugs. "On brooms. Mostly... on brooms, I think", she tells me and suddenly, she's grinning again. "No, okay, not really. Some time was spent on horses, too." It's interesting that we should have this one thing in common… but I can't comment on it, because she goes on: "Oh, and every time we visited Dad's extended family we had to conceal that Mum is a witch and that I inherited that. I _loved_ to torture the cousins."

"Really?" I look up at her in surprise. "You tortured Muggles?" I have the suspicion that she means something else by torture than my dear pureblood friends did. At least, I have a hard time imagining Lavinia doing something like this.

At first, she's looking at me obviously shocked, but suddenly, she starts laughing. "Merlin, for a moment I thought…" she's wiping tears of laughter out of her face. I can't say I actually follow her here and give her a questioning look. "Never mind. I just played tricks on them. They never discovered who was behind them. Well, not until I was eight, anyway."

I snigger a bit, too. "That's not very nice of you, you know…" I say and sit up a little straighter. She's still standing beside the window. "Anyway, what happened when you were eight?"

"Well", she's making the word exceedingly long. "It turned out that one of Dad's cousins is a witch. She'd been abroad until I turned eight, and then one day she was back again at some gathering. You really can't imagine Mum's and her faces when they met. They'd been at Hogwarts in the same year. Anyway... she caught me while hexing one of _my_ cousins and turned me over to my parents." With that, a slightly malicious grin appears on her face like I've hardly ever seen one on her. Seems there's a lot more to Lavinia than I thought… "Which in turn ended with me exposing her as a witch."

Wait… I have to digest this. She has what? "You exposed her as a witch to a family of Muggles? How did they react? Did they find out you and your mother were witches, too?" That's fascinating. Up to now, all I had known about topics such as this had come from pureblood sources that had lead me to believe that exposing witches and wizards to Muggles is an absolutely fatal move for at least one party involved.

"Errr... they didn't believe us. At first, I mean. You do know that the times when witches were burned are long gone, right? Today people prefer just to refuse seeing the truth." is her reply.

I frown. "Yes, alright. But when they came to believe you? What did they do? And do they know about you?"

She's rolling her eyes now. What? Did I pester her too much with my questions? I can't help it. "Yeah, they do know about Mum and me. And at first they were all like "Ooooh, can you do this? Can you do that?", but after a few months it just became... normal. I mean... this is family. Sure, there are always individuals who harras you or ridicule you... but after all... family just... accepts, you know."

Her last words trail off in the room and somehow remain in the air. I watch the sea, my head suddenly full of thoughts. I'm barely aware that Lavinia is still in the room. Family just… accepts… Does it? How come my family never…? Were we really that different? It strikes me that she's speaking something like that in such a self-evident way. The silence is highly awkward when my focus gets back on Lavinia. "Maybe you're lucky with your family, after all."

A sympathetic smile, maybe a little sad, appears on her face when she's turning to me again. "I guess I am. Listen, Orion... I'm sorry I picked up that topic. After last night I really should have known better."

I merely smile back and slightly shake my head. "Never mind", I say and get up from my chair again. "I wouldn't want you to think that my family was all bad." I shake my head again. "No, they weren't… if you overlook the fact that they were incredibly adamant in everything they thought and did, they only had my best interest in mind."

"Uh... I'm sure they did. I just... never mind", she's answering and I wonder what she wanted to say and didn't. But I'm not prying anymore.

"Let's get back, shall we?" I ask and open the door again. As soon as we get out into the open and away from the wind protection that is provided by the house, it's getting freezing cold again. I even start to shiver a little and automatically quicken my pace.

Only when we reach the bottom of the embankment stairs again, I turn to talk to her again. "Do you plan on attending the British Magical Press Ball on New Year's Eve this year? I know you're on the guest list."

In a mock gesture, she's raising an eyebrow, eyeing me suspiciously. "Oh, Mr Yaxley did his homework. And why would _you_ know that I of all people was on the guest list, mh?" I'm not even blushing, even though I looked her up especially to plan my evening. She doesn't have to know everything, right?

While I walk up the stairs behind her, I explain myself: "You were originally short listed for the "Player of the Year" award", I tell her. "After the last disaster with that interview they are forcing me to improve my knowledge on their domain." I smirk. That isn't the entire truth, to be honest… I rather did it to be informed about her field of activity.

She's turning around, extremely nervous… or is she only pretending to be? "You wouldn't know who was elected in the end, right?" Well, well, who wouldn't want to know that? I shake my head and grin.

"No, I don't. It's a secret the sports department is guarding very well", I overtake her when we reach the top of the embankment and add: "And I wouldn't have told you if I knew. On my honour."

Great. She's pouting now. "Oh come on, I_know_ I won't get the award. Wait, let me guess. Oliver Wood? Cormag McLaggen? Angelina Johnson?" I laugh and shake my head again.

"I really don't know. I can tell you who's going to win the "Outstanding Service to our Community" award, but I figure you can guess that yourself…"

"That's boring. _Everyone_ knows that." she's replying, equally shaking her head and while we're descending down unto the meadow again, I hear her whispering. "I _really_ hope McLaggen won't get that stupid award. He's already insufferable enough." That's the Quidditch circus for me – almost as full of egos as the pureblood society.

When we reach the pasture, I suddenly realise she actually hasn't answered my question at all. "Anyway", I start again, "you haven't told me if you'll be there or not."

She's taking a deep breath. "I... I haven't decided yet. You know it's just... I'm not a big fan of these social events. I mean, it's always the same... you wear clothes that practically strangle you, you spend three hours for a hairdo that will be ruined in only a half, you have to be nice to people you absolutely can't stand..."

"That won't do", I reply, slowing down a bit and leading the way into the stables instead of around them. "You can't hide in your closet forever; you have to get out sometimes. And I think it will be fun. It's one of the most important social events of the year. You certainly have nothing to hide." I give her an encouraging smile.

Oh… look at this. Is it just me or is she actually blushing slightly? "It's not about hiding, Orion. It's about not wanting to waste an evening", she's suggesting, but I think that's a rather lame excuse.

"And what better plan do you have, that's not wasting the evening?" I turn to look at her. "Don't tell me you prefer staying at home, sitting in front of that flickering Muggle-box."

A little disgruntled, she's murmuring back: "Well, that's certainly better than having to be in the same room with Chiverston or Lucinda Carrow for a whole evening." She's hopeless, sometimes.

"Come on, Lavinia", I say to her, while I'm checking on the horses. "There will be other people, even some worth the acquaintance. Plus, I'll be there, too, if Bryony confirms she's accompanying me. I could even invite you on a drink later on, in an unsuspicious environment... and we certainly would have something to talk about the next weeks…" I suddenly pause. It had been evident for me that I'm going back to live with her in London, but we never actually talked about it. I clear my throat. "Assuming that… I'm still welcome at your place."

"Of course you are still welcome." I sigh in relieve. And finally, there is some movement on her position, too: "But... you don't really think we'd be able to sneak away when you're there with your_wife_, right?"

I grin. "I said nothing about sneaking away. She's only coming with me – if she agrees – to avoid further scandals. We always use to split up after the ceremonial parts of the ball and go our own business. It would be quite save to talk to you on occasions during the evening, if I take certain precautions… like, hinting heavily to the sports department that I'll be trying to organise another interview with you for them." I take a breath. "They wouldn't expect me to succeed, so… no pressure."

A small sigh comes as a reply from her side. ""Orion... I don't know about you but _I_ remember a certain article by a certain witch implying certain _things_ between us."

I frown. Of course… it had slipped me because the other article that hadn't just been implying things was a little too present. "Alright…" I sigh, too. "So this maybe isn't such a good idea. But I'd still like you to come." I open the box of my favourite mare Side and pat her to greet her.

"You know..." her answer comes rather reluctantly, "if you'd like me to come you could have just said so, without all this other stuff." I take my time to turn back to her, stroking the horse and merely raise an eyebrow when I do. I wouldn't have thought that that's reason enough for her to come.

"So you'll be there?" I ask, closing the horse's box again. There's an obedient sigh coming from her direction.

"Yes._But_ I'll go when I feel like it, even if it's not midnight yet", she's précising and I don't complain.

"That's okay with me. Now, what about lunch?"

* * *

**A/N: **And here we go again, hoping that _someone _reads and likes this story. Yes? Please? 


	26. Chapter 26

**Twenty****-Six**

"_She walked into the room  
Leaving all her lovers in her trail  
And all that glitters fades  
With the garlands round her frame  
Out where the journey turns  
Another river runs and I'm amazed,  
You're the one, locking on  
Like a memory  
And it's good to feel you near."_

_Runrig, "Something's got to give"_

* * *

_Orion:_

"Hello Bryony", I say, bowing low and placing a kiss on the back of her hand. I'm nervous. Just be friendly... I was relieved when she finally agreed to accompany me to the annual British Magical Press Ball. Turning up without her would have marked the ultimate scandal and I need this ball to cultivate my valuable contacts to various influential people. Not being there or not being entirely focused would be disastrous.

"Save the effort, Orion, we're not there, yet", she's answering me, very coldly. I look up. She's wearing one of her most expensive robes, a clear-blue one I bought her shortly before she had thrown me out. Obviously she's trying to impress someone – and I have a suspicion it might not be me. I frown.

"Let's get going, shall we?" she's saying, almost pulling me to the apparition point. She's definitely nervous about something. But surely she wouldn't cause trouble, would she? I'm trying to slow down our steps. She knows how important this evening is and she promised me to play along. But I have my doubts now... maybe playing along meant something else to her than to me.

The next second we've already apparated to the official apparition point of the ball. Red carpet is waiting. I can already see the photographers standing at both sides of the entrance and people posing. A glance sideways tells me that Bryony is showing her best smile, obviously ready to go. I take her hand, take a deep breath and start walking.

Somehow it doesn't feel as glamorous and important as it had the last few years. Back then, I had been one of the Daily Prophet's shooting stars. Now, the ultimate question seems to be whether I'll be showing up with my wife or alone. A hush goes through the ranks when we reach the carpet. I can hear people whispering. "She's with him" or "the Yaxleys" and soon the questions from the yellow press start floating. "One comment on the rumours about the condition of your marriage!" or "Did you reconciliate?" or even "Mrs. Maycroft-Yaxley, what do you think of Lucinda Carrows articles?" But we just ignore them, smile and wave.

Just when we reach the entrance and I'm about to take another deep breath to renew the smile on my face, I turn around and see Lavinia arrive. I... wow. She's walking towards the photographers and you have to know her well to see that she's not as secure as she looks. I automatically smile. She looks beautiful... breathtaking in her turquoise robes and this thing she's done with her hair. I think I've never seen her dressed up before. She should do that more often. And the crowd just loves her.

I'm glad I convinced her to come, just for the sight of it. It's already worth the effort. I haven't seen her in London after we had left Norfolk; she had gone to visit her parents. The last evening at the manor had been surprisingly cosy. We had been sitting in the small salon. At first, I had tried to write while she was reading, but in the end, we had been sitting by the fireplace, reading to each other until we were so tired we had to stop to prevent us from falling asleep on the sofa again.

"What are you waiting for?" My wife gets me back to reality faster than I can blink. "Who are you looking at?" I clear my throat and turn around.

"Nobody. Let's get going. I hope they stop bothering us with those questions. Don't you?"

Surprisingly, she's even going for this. Not in a good way... "Are you actually scared?" I can see the hideous smile on her face. "Come on, we don't want them to notice." The way she's smiling I suspect that she would want people to notice. Oh crap. Please, just let us get it over with nicely and smoothly.

Of course it doesn't stop when we get in. Before we even can get a drink, there's already the Junior Undersecretary of the Minister standing in front of us, asking us if we had sorted out our difficulties. He's an important contact, so we have to exchange niceties and even comment on the rumours ("they're making a fuss about nothing, really"). It starts to prove annoying. Everywhere I go, nobody wants to talk about business, politics or even just the weather with me. All they're interested in is that stupid yellow press subject.

Even more annoying is the fact that my wife is immensely enjoying herself, smiling at every man we meet, even kiss their cheeks as a greeting – while I'm standing next to her, wondering whom she has already slept with in the past and who's maybe even speculating on a close encounter later tonight. It's commonly known after all that we use to split up after a while on parties like this, me networking on business, she... enjoying herself, a little more than I had obviously thought.

After everyone had arrived – I'm regularly looking out for Lavinia, but she's never anywhere close to me – I have to present the Daily Prophet Award for Outstanding Service to our Community. It sounds impressive, but it has become exceedingly boring. The award – voted by the readers of the Daily Prophet and sponsored by my Political Department – has gone to Mr. and Mrs. Ronald and Hermione Weasley for five years in a row, and I know for a fact that they're going to receive it this year as well.

So, I have to get on stage and make some kind of laudation speech for a couple I neither like nor think deserves the award. Well, maybe better them than Harry Potter again, like the years after his victory over you-know-who – that "hero" has finally got his lifetime achievement award and has retired from public view since he's become a father.

Thankfully, it doesn't take more than five minutes to present the award and everything goes well. They're used to getting it I'm used to giving it, no big deal. And now, I'm free to go talk to Lavinia. Because the award normally is the signal to Bryony and me going separate ways for the evening, and I suppose she's craving it as much as I am.

I leave the stage as fast as I can without appearing to be rude. The next Award happens to be Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile, presented by Lucinda Carrow and I'm not interested in another, however harmless, encounter with _that_ woman, in particular not on stage and not now. It's enough already that people keep asking me about this horrible article she wrote – some even had the guts to ask me if it was true... the pictures are pretty clear, I think, and I'm not commenting on the rest.

When I reach to bottom of the stage stairs however, I almost bump into my wife. "Wonderful", she's telling me, still smiling that sickeningly sweet artificial smile she's so good at. "Let's have a drink and a good talk outside on the balcony." WHAT? I'm startled. Why on earth does she want to have a drink, let alone talk to me, now of all times?

"Can't it wait until we get home? We can leave early, if you..." I'm offering, but she won't have it.

"Nonsense, sweetie", she's never called me that before, what is she up to? "Get us a drink. I'm waiting for you outside." I want to turn around and plan not to get back to her for a while, but she's obviously foreseen my reaction. "And don't you dare ignoring it..." she's whispering in my ear now. "Remember that I know things other people might be interested in. See you on the balcony."

What, is she seriously blackmailing me? But I obviously have no choice... we haven't talked in over two months, why now? Why here? While I'm going to the bar to get drinks I'm looking out for Lavinia. She's talking to another woman; it might be a team mate of hers. I'm trying to make eye contact with her to communicate my situation, but after she's caught my gaze for just a split second, she's demonstratively looking away. What have I done?

There's no time to worry about her at the moment, though, because Bryony is waiting. I would rather have gone to Lavinia and asked her what was going on, but I know that Bry's threat hasn't been empty. I take the two glasses of champagne and go to the balcony, where my not-too-lovely wife is already waiting for me, leaning against the wall in a remote corner. "Thank you very much, that's so nice of you", she says with a heavy dose of irony in her voice while she's taking the glass from me.

"Would you please enlighten me what this is all about? You know how important this ball is for me. I couldn't talk business with anybody and it's running late!" Granted, I am a little desperate.

"First, I want to speak a toast to our marriage", she's holding up her glass, looking at me with a mock smile on her face. I roll my eyes.

"If you insist." I lift the glass, too.

"You wouldn't want the yellow press see us here and think we're not close anymore, would you?" Stop smiling, it's ugly.

"No, I don't. Now, tell me what's going on. If you're just here to annoy me, we could simply go home." I suspect that if someone from the yellow press would hear us at the moment, we would have the scandal anyway.

"No, we're staying. I need to be sure you're listening to me _closely_." ... as if I couldn't do this at home. I shift a little uneasy and look around. "Relax, no one is coming here, I've seen to that. I want to ask you something..." her smile isn't so self-satisfied anymore. "Have you ever loved me?"

"What stupid question is that?" I blurt out. I'm slightly panicking here. Bryony has never asked such weird questions before. I thought we were clear on_ that_.

"Is it stupid because you have or because you haven't?" her voice sounds hard and she's looking at me coldly. She's got her arms folded in front of her chest. I'm definitely panicking now. I'm simply staring at her and I have no idea what the right answer to this question is.

"So you haven't", she's concluding and for the first time this evening she's actually looking a tiny bit desperate.

"I didn't say that", I say, even though she's right, and even though I thought she had known and accepted the arrangement and the circumstances of our marriage when it had been made.

"You didn't say the opposite, either" she hasn't moved an inch.

"I... I liked you. Isn't that enough for you?" Why the heck is she bringing up such a sentimental topic? I have no idea where this is leading. We were friends, we were purebloods, we weren't Death Eaters – it was a perfect match, end of story. No need for...

She's definitely looking disappointed now. "It isn't..." she's taking a deep breath. "Because I have." WHAT? I think I'm just staring at her in disbelief. Is she just telling me...? "I had a crush on you since our first year at Hogwarts and I've been in love with you when you asked me to marry you." I'm speechless. She, on the other hand, is staying surprisingly calm, as if she had planned to tell me this for a long time. She LOVED me? How did that happen? How could this be?

"You're kidding." It dawns on me. This can only be some stupid joke. And she had me there, for a minute. "You must be kidding." Come on, leave it, you had a good laugh on me but it's over, I'm the jerk...

"I'm not kidding." She's still looking very serious, even a bit threatening. "And I don't find it remotely funny." I survey her sceptically, but she doesn't move an inch and she's definitely not joking. _Shit_! It was there and I put my foot directly in it. I don't know what to say to that... this comes as quite of a shock.

"But..." I shake my head, "but you... you cheated on me, didn't you? You told me you have been having affairs practically since our marriage. How could you do this, if you... did have... certain feelings for me?" I'm stammering. Again. That's no good sign.

"Come on, it's not so difficult to say that I loved you – certain feelings... honestly", I see she's getting worked up. "So you can't figure out why I cheated, really? Merlin, I can't believe that I had been so blind and thought you were intelligent."

I roll my eyes again and fold my arms in front of my chest, too, mimicking her position. "Just... tell me. You're obviously dying to do so." Whatever she says, she's definitely not in love with me now, the way she's treating me. And for some reason, she's rolling her eyes – for a brief moment I have the impression that she's considering the option to just leave me here without further explanation. "Go on... I'm curious." She's rolling her eyes again. "Believe me, I am." And let's get it over with.

"You're an idiot, Orion Yaxley and absolutely blind for every romantic feeling there is", she has the guts to say. That's not nice of you. She's putting the almost empty glass on the floor, putting a refill-charm on it, then, she's stepping in front of me on the balcony like she would be stepping on a stage. It looks a lot like she had been planning this.

"Hear the sad and true story of Bryony Maycroft", she's announcing and I wholeheartedly wish that she would be less melodramatic about it. But it suits her to do something like that. I open my mouth to tell her to be more discreet, but she's waging her finger to indicate me not to. "You hear me out, or I'm stepping on stage and tell the entire party. And believe me, there are a lot of people interested." Fine, have it your way. I lean against the wall, watching her and barely hiding my annoyance.

"I know it's unbelievable now, but I had developed a crush on you almost the minute I first saw you on the Hogwarts Express. You have been sophisticated, charming, well-mannered" she suddenly has a dreamy look on her face "and you seemed to be more mature than any of the boys of our age. I can't think why a girl like me couldn't fall for that. But you didn't seem overly interested." I had no idea. I had just... no idea. And I can't really see where all this could lead to her cheating on me.

"I did everything I could to get closer to you. And it worked..." she's frowning and I can't believe that she had been so calculating. "We became friends" – again, she has a dreamy smile on her face – "you started to confide in me, I was thrilled. And the more time we spent together, the more I loved you. You weren't easy to be with, you're very hard on everyone, and most on yourself – but I admired you... deeply."

There, she sighs. "And then you proposed to me." Oh my Goodness, what a mistake I made there. If I had known! She's got a mad sparkle in her eyes. "I was at the goal of my dreams", her smile sobers up. "I knew, of course, that you hadn't proposed because you loved me, you made yourself quite clear." It's my turn to sigh... in relieve. She's glaring at me. "Stop it. I thought that even if you didn't share my feelings then, you would come along once we were bound together. I imagined you would care for me..." her voice drops. "like you promised."

"But I didn't..." I say, feeling increasingly guilty.

"No, you didn't." She's confirming coldly. "You threw yourself into work, you were rarely at home and if you were... you showed no special interest in me." Well... yes, that about sums it up. I've never seen anything bad in that.

"I thought you would want your freedom!" I exclaim.

And she: "No! All I wanted was you!"

Please, this just... can't be true. I frown. My marriage is even more messed up than I believed. "I tried to get your attention, but you weren't reacting. So... when I met a nice Canadian Ministery Official at a party... I took the chance. I... don't know what I have been thinking. He was attractive and reasonably charming and I thought that if you'd get jealous... you would find out what you really have in me... and you would love me back."

That's the most ridiculous explanation for cheating I've ever heard. I'm actually upset about it. "You're actually blaming _me_ for you cheating on me?"

"Technically", she's answering, shrugging. "Because you didn't react. You didn't even find out! So, when I met another man at the next party... I did it again. You didn't find out." I gulp.

"Yeah, I get the idea", I say, but she won't have it.

"No, I don't think so. At first, they were only random acquaintances, but after a while, when you didn't react..." she's got a mean smirk on her face. "I went for your friends. You can't imagine how much all those love-craving purebloods longed for a little adventure." I'd rather not know. That's disgusting. "Or maybe you _do_ know, seeing as you had more passion left for Lucy than you ever had for me!"

"Come on, Bryony! How many times did you cheat on me and you're mad at me for ONE single time?" I'm screaming at her. I don't know what she did that nobody has come here, yet.

"It was significant!" she's crying back, walking up and down in front of me.

"Why would it be significant?" I'm trying to calm her down, because I don't want to risk any more trouble. She's taking some deep breaths and after a few moments, she's standing in front of me, composed again.

"After it didn't work cheating on you to win you, Lucy suggested-"

"WHAT? That... gal actually set it UP?" I'm going to destroy her, I'm absolutely going to destroy her...

"Yes, Lucy."

"I can't believe-"

"Shut up! She suggested that I should find an occasion to throw you out, that you would miss me, see what you had in me. I didn't believe her. And I was right. You did amuse yourself with Linda, Lavinia _and_ Lucinda!" Oh no, not with me.

"You didn't actually believe her stories!"

She's smirking. "That you seduced them? Nah, that's bullshit. But you can't deny that she has seen you with the two of them, and taken pictures and you cannot deny that she tricked you into sleeping with her, either!" Tricked me into it is exactly the right wording if you ask me.

"You got it exactly right. Yes, I did. But what do you expect from me? That I come back to you after everything you did? You told me you cheated on me and threw me out just because you suspected that I could have met another woman... how do you think this is going to work?" She's looking me up intensely.

"Have you met another woman that night?" I avoid her gaze.

"Not exactly." She's positively glaring at me.

"What do you mean?" Annoyed, I look back at her, very determined.

"Not that it would count in this, but yes, I have met another woman, and no, it hadn't been anything remotely like cheating because it was only a friend I hadn't seen in a long time..."

"... and you slept with her." It's my turn glaring at her.

"No, I didn't."

"Whatever. Who is she?"

I'm definitely not going there. "That's none of your business." Her glare gets replaced by a sarcastic smile.

"Right. If she's _so_ unimportant to you, why don't you tell me who she is? There's no problem in meeting old friends, is there?" I don't like that smile, actually. She'd been less intimidating when she had been glaring.

"You are right, there is no problem. I'm still not going to tell you because it's a private matter."

"Private, is it?" the smile broadens. "Have you seen her again?" I'm not answering that. No way. But whenever I don't answer, she's guessing. "So you have." I'm keeping silent, it's better if she's just guessing, rather than knowing. I must have blushed a little... purely because I got so worked up, nothing... serious. "I can't believe it", Bryony is taking some steps back, shaking her head. "I can't believe it. Is it possible? You? You of all people?" I roll my eyes.

"What's the matter now?" She's grinning. It's an ironic smile I know only too well.

"You're in_ love_. You... you never came down loving me... but this other woman... how long? How long has this been going on?"

"I'm not!" What the hell is she thinking? This is outrageous. I mean, yes, I did spend a lot of time with her recently and we had a really nice Christmas, but that doesn't mean I'm in love with her or something.

"You're smiling. Is she here tonight?" I can already see Bryony forging plans of revenge. I have to protect this.

"I don't know. Leave it. It is actually possible to be friends with someone without being in love with that person. Just because you were unable to do that, doesn't mean everyone-" She's again glaring at me.

"Stop talking right now! I don't deserve this. Not from you!" She's gesturing nervously in front of me. "You already ruined my life and my family - you're not going to insult me for my mistakes, too!"

Wow. Actually... I feel a small rush of guilt. She has a point in that... I did kind of ruin her life... and her family; even though it hadn't strictly been my fault. I could have been more attentive... maybe I would have detected... I sigh and breathe deeply. My wife is still standing in front of me, also breathing rather heavily. I suddenly feel sorry for her. Life had some really bad surprises for her... and, after all, if I say something about it... she would probably forget about Lavinia for the moment.

"Listen, Bry..." I take a few steps towards her. She's looking up, uncertain. "I'm sorry for what happened. I wouldn't have married you if I had known." I can hear her gulp audibly and when I look into her eyes I realise that she's crying. Oh, please, don't do that. I don't know what to do... put my hand on her shoulder a little tentatively and she's putting her head against my chest.

"It was... all... I wanted..." she's sobbing. This is awkward. Why is she crying... I've never seen her cry before. I'm not even patting her shoulders or anything, like I should.

"Shhh, calm down." It doesn't work. She's still sobbing. I... what should I do? I'm not in the position to comfort her. "Bry... please." No reaction. I catch a glimpse of my watch... almost midnight, almost New Year. "Listen... get yourself together. It's close to midnight. We're supposed to be in there." No reaction. I try it in a little more firm voice... I remind myself unpleasantly of my father. "Get a grip! You're a Pureblood!" She's pulling away from me, staring at me in disbelieve.

Well, at least, she has stopped crying. She shakes her head a few times and cleans away the tears. After breathing deeply a few times, she's composed again. "Let's go back", she declares in a determined voice.

I open the door for her and take her hand. The others are just about to start the countdown. 10... 9... 8... 7... "would you kiss me one last time?"... 4... 3... I have no time to think... by New Year I'm bending down and kiss her. One last time. It feels weird, knowing that she had loved me for a long time, and knowing that I hadn't... and still don't. Even now I feel she's a little desperate about the situation.

When we break apart, she's not saying anything, only taking my hand, indicating me to follow her to the exit. I can't even take the risk to look out for Lavinia again or gesturing her that I'll talk to her about it later.

_Lavinia:_

Well… this is a little weird. But the Annual British Magical Press New Year's Ball is weird every time I attend. Which is every once in a blue moon, but never mind. Anyway… I've just arrived at the apparition point and I have the gown, I have the hairdo, I even have a necklace and a teeny tiny little purse. I'm looking ridiculous. Still… you promised Orion you would go out, meet people, make them see everything is alright with you. You promised. Now, chin up, back straight, smile plastered on.

Face the music, come on. One step after another… there's a good girl. And as I set the first foot on the red carpet it gets even weirder. Cameras are flashing all around me, and journalists behind the lanes shout stuff at me. Still with the smile plastered on, I turn around into the direction, and the cameras are flashing _again_. Then a guy I vaguely remember from the press conference in October shoots me a grin and calls: "You look great today, Lavinia! Still need an escort?" Usually my first reaction would be to frown and then to tell the insolent brat to shut up, but tonight that's a totally no-go.

So I smile a little brighter and just call back: "Don't try to use me as your ticket to the rich and famous!" The bunch of journalists is actually laughing, and it's kinda… infectious. All of a sudden my smile isn't plastered anymore. It's real. Huh? Who would have thought walking along the stupid red carpet could be any fun?

After some more… errr… flirting with the crowd – at least I think that's what they call it – I finally make my way to the entrance. I'm not really keen on entering, though, because I know what's awaiting me inside: Journalists – and _lots_ of them – all wanting to know if I will stay on the teams, various acquaintances from the war or School all eager to see and confirm all they've read on Witch Weekly, a _huge_ amount of self-important pureblood lobbyists... and Orion, together with Bryony, keeping up appearances just one last time. I mean, it's not really bothering me, it's… alright, who am I trying to kid? It _is_ bothering me, but…

"La_vinia_!" No. No, Merlin, please, no. Please do not let Helena Chiverston-Althorpe be the first one to greet me here. Not her. Of all the people you could have chosen… "I'm _so_ glad you could come." Eek, what are you doing, Chiverston? She's touching my shoulders and blowing kisses on both my cheeks. Stupid social events where you are not allowed to give people who trespass your personal space a very thorough wigging. Instead I'm forced to smile at her and pretend I'm actually happy to see her.

"Well, yes, me too. Err…"

Now her eyes grow large in mock horror and she drops her voice to a conspicuous whisper: "I really thought you wouldn't come. What with everyone's favourite pureblood couple reunited again and everything." Oh, I'm very sure they're _your_ favourite pureblood couple alright.

"Actually, I have no idea what you're talking about…" She wants to interrupt me – didn't anyone teach you _any_ manners, you little hell-spawn? – but we're both cut short by the announcement that now there will be several awards given away. Ah, and another reason I always tried to avoid attending the Press Ball. Endless rows of stupid, boring laudations, every year the same faces up there… yawn.

The first award is the one for Outstanding Service to Our Community, and I'm sure it'll be a _big_ surprise at who will get it this year. It's Orion holding the laudation and giving it away, and I manage to ignore Chiverston's jabbering quite well. I know I shouldn't but I even feel a little sympathy for Orion because he has to give the award to Ron and Hermione Weasley, the fifth or fourth time in a row. I mean, I don't have a problem with either of them because they seemed decent enough at Hogwarts, but I'm sure _Orion_ doesn't really hold them in high esteem. Having to give away that stupid award to two Gryffindors year after year is surely hurting his little pureblood soul a lot.

Indeed the whole thing _does_ seem rather hurried, and I wonder if he's practically falling down the stairs only because this whole thing must bugger him to no end or because the next award will be given away be none other than Miss Lucinda Carrow. I try to establish eye contact with him, but this time Chiverston's blabbering gets through. "I know for a fact they'll give the award to dear Oliver this year." Dear Oliver is in fact Oliver Wood, our Keeper. I'm a little surprised but I guess it makes sense to give the Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award to him. He's so in love with the game he doesn't even realise all the swooning women he leaves in his trails.

"Well, that's nice for him, then." Still not really paying attention to Chiverston, but trying to reach… Orion. And stopping. Bryony has found him again, looking a little harassed and trying to talk him into something. What… does she want from him? And Merlin, _why_ do I care? Abruptly I decide to stop looking at them and turn back to Chiverston. Oh, wait, didn't I just see Orion looking at me?

"By the way, Lavinia, you look so _beautiful_ tonight." Huh? I try to concentrate on Chiverston again. Something in her tone says she's up to something mean. Again. "I mean… I really love the dress… the colour _so_ compliments your eyes." I look at her a little bewildered and thank her awkwardly, not really trusting her, and indeed she gets on with her blabbering. "And what you did with your hair… I do think that this is the first time you ever actually look like a woman." Wha…? Wham. Just like that. Sneaking up on you and then jumping for the kill. I want to throttle her. Right now, and right here.

_Why_ does she do this? What exactly did I do to her to deserve this? Why can't she… "Lav… Mrs McNeil, what a surprise to see you here!" Oi. Saved by the bell. Or Benjamin Addington, respectively. He's a middle-aged wizard, my mother's boss, to be precise. I've always liked him and right now I could kiss him. But, alas, where are my manners?

"Actually I'm a little surprised about that as well, Mr Addington. Please allow me to introduce you to a team mate of mine. Helena, this is Mr Benjamin Addington, Head of the Department of Toxicology at St. Mungo's. He works with my mother. Mr Addington, this is Helena Chiverston-Althorpe, the Montrose Magpies' Seeker and wife of Aldrich Althorpe." Chiverston smiles her "I'm so delighted to meet you."-smile and plays the proper little lady.

But before she can start the conversation again, she's called to the stage where someone is actually giving her the award for Sportsperson of the Year. Sheesh, who's the one selecting those at the Prophet? Because, really, Oliver or that Beater at Puddlemere United would have been first choice if they actually gave the award to someone who achieved something in Sports.

Anyway… "You seem a little distracted, La… Mrs McNeil." I blink. Oh. Right. Mum's boss still standing beside me. I turn towards him and smile at him.

"I'm sorry, Mr Addington. And please… you've known me even before I could talk. Please call me Lavinia." He smiles in return, offering his apologies for not being sure how to address me now that I'm a grown-up.

"So… what's distracting you so much, Lavinia?" I eye him a little suspicious.

"You weren't sent here by my mother to keep an eye on me, right?" He laughs whole-heartedly, and I just _have_ to join him. Still laughing he shakes his head to assure me he wasn't. I still smile, turning my head back into the room. "Actually… I'm looking for someone. A… friend of mine. I just kind of lost his sight and…"

He's suddenly grown serious. Huh? "If you mean that Yaxley-boy…" Goodness gracious, did even my mum's _boss_ read these stupid articles? I just _bet_ now comes a very fatherly attitude, telling me this "boy" isn't good enough for me and how I should… "He left for the balcony. With his wife. Are you sure you know what you're doing, Lavinia?"

I take a deep breath. The balcony. With Bryony. In the middle of the Press Ball. Orion would _never_ leave the field before the battle is ended, and such an important field at that, if it wasn't for something _really_ important. So obviously suddenly salvaging his marriage became even more important to him than taking care of all his contacts. Plus, he just _has_ to know his and Bryony's leaving will be noticed, and not just by a few bystanders. He… he _wants_ them to see this. _Wants_ them to think he and Bryony actually…

I take another deep breath. Norfolk was great. It was kinda… _deep_ and nice, especially the last evening. I do think I never had a guy reading something to me before. But that's all it was: Nice. All in friendship. Nothing else. Whatever may have come, I will end this, here and now. We had this undefined-feelings thing once before, and it ended badly. Better crush every feeling that may be there before it gets too hot. I turn to Mr Addington again.

"Yes. I know _exactly_ what I'm doing."

He must have realised what just went through my head because he doesn't pry anymore, just takes my arm and says good-naturedly: "I do have some people I'd very much like to introduce you to. There are a few very nice young gentlemen among them." He winks at me and I can't help but smile back. Orion was right. I have to stop living in the past.

"I would very much like to get to know them."

Then, suddenly, after a few rounds of flirting and a certain amount of alcohol – I'm _not_ drunk, alright – the though of Orion reconciling with his wife doesn't exactly let me cold, but at least has stopped to be the only thing on my mind. Actually, "the very nice young gentlemen" Benjamin had been talking about turned out to be a bunch of very witty and charming young healers.

And now suddenly it's almost midnight, and I'm just on my way back from the ladies' room to the Healer pack, when people start counting down from ten. At eight, I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder, at five there's a voice whispering "Hello, Lavinia. Long time, no see." in a heavy Russian accent into my ear, at three I suddenly see Orion and Bryony coming back into the room and Orion moving in to kiss her… I actually have to close my eyes at that sight. Which is why at everyone's "Happy New Year!" I'm kissed full on the lips quite unexpectedly.

Slightly bewildered I open the eyes again, and for a moment I have _no_ idea who's standing in front of me, smiling quite pleased with himself. He's tall, lean, with short black hair and dark brown eyes that are twinkling. Uh… should I know that guy? And why in all heavens is some bloody stranger taking the liberty of kissing me right in front of all these people? "Excuse me, sir, but I don't think we've been already introduced to each other." I manage to say in an ice-cold tone that would have done Orion pride.

"Ah, but Lavinia… don't you recognize your old friend Boreas?" he replies with all the flourish and the drama obviously only Russians can display. Or, well… only _Boreas_ can display. I guess I must be looking like a deer caught in headlights, because _now_ I _do_ recognize him alright. He's just a little older, just a little broader, just a little… rougher than he was at Hogwarts. It… suits him.

I break out into a full-grown grin. "Of course I do! I just… what are you doing here?" All of a sudden I feel very giddy. For some reason Boreas always made me feel that way. He flashes me a grin, and I bet he rehearsed that about a thousand times and tested it on every woman he came across until it had exactly the desired affect. At least he used to be like that.

"I… have been in the country, and seeing as I used to know some folk at the Ministry… everyone says the Press Ball is _the_ event, so naturally I _had_ to be here. And I haven't been disappointed." He winks at me, and for some reason that makes my knees actually go weak for a moment. What exactly am I _doing_ here?

"Not even by the Awards?" I shoot him a questioning look, finding myself bewildered at how coquettish I can be. Oi, Lavinia, get a grip. He used to be a School crush. No, not even that. He just… liked to flirt with you and flatter you and…

"Well, there was the first one, that with the Service to the Community… I found the laudation quite boring…" The one Orion held. Mh. Can teenager grudges really hold _that_ long? "But otherwise… yes, I liked it. Not as grand as the Ministry's Yolka-Ball in Moscow, but still… very stylish. And now that the company improved so much…" Another grin and a seductively raised eyebrow. Here, ladies and gentlemen, is a man who actually knows how to flirt and how to compliment.

I know I'm blushing a little, but from the look on his face, he likes that. "I think I can say the same with absolute sincerity." Whoa, McNeil since when do you know how to flirt like that? Instead of saying anything he reaches out and tucks one of the tiny strands that have escaped the hairdo behind my ears.

Then, very softly, and with a carefully put on wistful smile: "Ten years and you are still as beautiful as in Hogwarts… no, you're even more beautiful." Before I can say anything he leans down again to plant another kiss on my lips, very briefly but with some kind of…_promise_. Blushing now. _Heavily_. Need to hide somewhere.

"Oh… I… thank you." And there goes the eloquence. "I think… I have to excuse myself for a moment… just… stay here. Don't run away."

He just smiles as he answers: "Not in a million years, Lavinia. Now that I found you again." Sheesh… that one's a charmer alright. Desperately need to get something cool in my face… maybe the sweet-talk dose was a little high for someone who didn't get any real compliments from guys in about five years.

Restrooms… finally. Merlin, what are all these women doing here? Just need to get to the washing basins… oh, great, ha, that one's mine! Water… "You know… if you absolutely _have_ to go for a _Slytherin_ then at least take the decent one", a voice I haven't heard since graduating drawls into my ear and I jerk up. There, in front of me, stands the one and only Miss Lucinda "I love to ruin other people's lives" Carrow in her shiny dress and curly blond hair, smirking at me.

Great. Just great. The woman who somehow started all this bloody mess, and all I can do is stare at her and have _no_ clue _whatsoever_ what she's talking about. She raises an eyebrow. "Cat got your tongue, Lavinia?" How _dare_ she talk to me like that? Her of all people! I… I…

"Listen, you b…" She gives me another smirk and a mocking look.

"Ah, ah, ah, language! And heed my advice. Otherwise… don't say I didn't warn you." I look around, taking another breath for a sentence far fouler than what I'd wanted to say before but when I want to look her in the eye she's suddenly gone. _What in all Heavens has just been happening here_? I shake my head. Too weird to think about that. Do it and your head will explode. Just some water in your face and back to Boreas and_stop bloody thinking about this bloody encounter_.

* * *

**A/N: **Enter Boreas... a true Nemesis to every well-meaning and ambitious author. And to me as well, of course. He's really yucky to write, but he serves a purpose. Just wait and see. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Twenty-Seven**

"_No more champagne  
and the fireworks are through  
here we are, me and you  
feeling lost and feeling blue  
it's the end of the party  
and the morning seems so grey  
so unlike yesterday."_

_ABBA, "Happy New Year"_

* * *

_Orion:_

Never would I have dreamt that I would one day wake up in one of the spare rooms of my own London townhouse. But then, I also never imagined my marriage to fail so miserably. Yesterday, after arriving home, we hadn't had anything to discuss anymore. I hadn't, at least. I merely wished her a good night and went to the spare room that was farthest from our bedroom.

While I'm staring at the ceiling I wonder if Bryony did understand the message. I couldn't determine it yesterday. In a way she seemed disappointed that I refused to join her for the night, almost as if she had expected us to get back together – on the other hand had separation obviously been the only possible conclusion for me after what she'd told me yesterday and I think she silently agreed.

It's late for my usual habits, almost 8 o'clock in the morning, but I'm not keen on getting up already. Getting up would mean facing Bryony again and telling her what she must already know. I'm not even hesitating to do it, a clean cut now would be better than dragging it on forever, until it would get us both destroyed. The only thing is... when I get up, see her, tell her... it's definitive. It's over. And I don't know if I can muster the strength. She had been in love with me for years. Maybe, she's even got some feelings left now, despite everything.

That's an uncomfortable thought. I'm still wondering how it could have happened... I surely never encouraged her to... develop any feelings for me; whatever those feelings have meant, anyway. It not only did not prevent her from cheating on me... it obviously encouraged her to do just that. Stop pondering. Stop it now, for good.

I get up and take my time to get ready. I might even start thinking about what I have to take with me from here. When I left last autumn, I somewhat expected to move back in eventually.

About an hour later I leave the house definitively. She had been composed even when I told her that I'm going to be filing for divorce as soon as the Ministry reopens after the holidays. It feels incredibly weird, leaving the house with the last remnants of my personal possession I had left there, knowing it to be for good. I'm strangely emotionless and after the outburst yesterday, it had been the same for Bryony.

When I get to Norfolk to deposit my things before heading back to Lavinia's apartment, I find a copy of the latest special issue of Witch Weekly. I apparate in front of the building and freeze in shock when I see the pictures that accompany Lucinda Carrow's coverage of the Ball:

**Awards, reconciliation and hot love affairs!**

_Are you bored of all this clean and polished marketing coverage of the hottest celebrity event of the year? Witch Weekly special reporter__**Lucinda Carrow **__tells you all the dirty details and hot gossip of the annual British Magical Press Ball!_

_First, let's get over with the winners of the awards. Our very own Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award has been given to Mr. __**Oliver Wood**__ for the first time. Our National Keeper has been more than mildly irritated by this gesture, as pictures of the ceremony clearly show. This could be due to his exceptional involvement with Quiddich. He hasn't had any known affairs or relationships to date but rather seems to be married to his sport._

_He may have charmed our dear readers, but he didn't convince those of the Daily Prophet's Sports Section. They awarded Mrs. __**Helena Chiverston-Althorpe**__ for no apparent reason with the Player of the Year trophy. I guess most readers have been so distracted by the famous bum of the dark-haired sex-symbol they didn't care about her qualities as a player. Her husband, __**Aldrich Althorpe**__, owner of the traditional broomstick production "Nimbus" must be so proud of her. Pity he wasn't present at the event. I guess Mrs. Chiverston-Althorpe didn't mind, though..._

_To be complete, the most boring Award went very fittingly to the most boring couple in history – you guessed it – __**Ronald and Hermione Weasley **__have won the Outstanding Service to our Community Award, again. It seems that there are no alternatives, so I suggest just making a standing order out of it and take it off the program next year._

_This would surely have pleased presenter __**Orion Yaxley**__. The notorious philanderer surprisingly showed up in company of his wife, __**Bryony Maycroft-Yaxley**__; and the two of them seemed to have celebrated a wild reconciliation. Directly after the presentation, the couple has been seen leaving the party to a more private room and didn't show up again before midnight, where they have been kissing deeply in front of the celebrating crowd. As they left the party immediately after the turning of the year, hand in hand, it can be assumed that she did indeed forgive him his missteps. (Witch Weekly covered) Has this been a wise decision, Mrs. Maycroft-Yaxley?_

_At least, one of Yaxley's latest sports, Quidditch International__**Lavinia McNeil**__, whom he had taken on a romantic date on Wizard's D-Day, does seem to be over him. She has been seen heavy flirting and kissing with another dubious figure, native Russian __**Boreas Roshenkov**__, (see pictures above) who hadn't been seen in Britain since the end of the war five years ago. It becomes more and more obvious that McNeil has suffered from serious trauma after the heroic death of her late husband Tony, thus getting into the grip of men who don't mean well with her. Maybe she's in desperate need of her very own knight in shiny armour... but __**Harry Potter, **__who hadn't been present at the party, is already married._

_The president of the British Pureblood Association, __**Crataegus Burke**__, cannot be left unnamed, either. He collapsed again this year after apparent abuse of alcohol. Is this due to the remarkable absence of his wife __**Daphne**__ at this party, again? The BPA has given pregnancy complications as official reason for her absence. Other sources claim that she's too ashamed to accompany a husband who's constantly looking up other women to any party. I predict that we haven't heard the last of it. Are the Burkes the new Yaxleys?_

That's… impossible. I… for Lavinia's sake I hope that Carrow is exaggerating vastly, or getting it utterly wrong, like she did with Bryony and myself. Roshenkov, of all people! Why? As much as I disagree with Carrow otherwise, she's definitely right when she's qualifying that man as dubious. I'm getting myself together before I open the door and climb up the stairs to our apartment. 

I find Lavinia sitting in the living room, feet on the couch, reading letters. The owls – both, my own and hers – are observing her from the wardrobe. I frown and renounce from greeting her. No, all I do is taking off my coat, carefully hanging it on the hat stand and walking towards her. I'm deliberately not accelerating. Finally, I carelessly let the magazine fall in front of her, directly on the pile of yet unread mail. 

Folding my arms in front of my chest, I watch her with a stern look on my face. To my astonishment, she's not even looking up from her letter. "Hi, Orion. Yes, I'm delighted to see you again. How are you?" she's saying with an edge in her voice, obviously forcing herself to stay calm.

I'm not pressed. "Fine", I answer, as calm as I'm able under present circumstances. I try to keep my voice nice and friendly, but I figure she can't overhear the sarcastic undertone. "How was your party yesterday? I read that you have quite enjoyed yourself, haven't you?"

Still not looking up, she's answering: "Yes, I did. As did you, if I remember it correctly."

Yes, I absolutely enjoyed myself yesterday finding out my wife not only cheated on me, but worse, had secretly been in love with me for years… I roll my eyes, hoping she doesn't see it as she's still got her eyes fixed on that stupid letter. "You remember wrong."

"Well, then... care to enlighten me what I should remember instead?" finally, she's looking up at me, arching up an eyebrow. Oh no, Lavinia, not with me. It's me who's asking the questions first.

Completely ignoring her question, I ask my own: "Is Carrow right?" I carelessly take up the magazine again. "Has she seen you," I read aloud "_flirting and kissing with another dubious figure, native Russian __**Boreas Roshenkov**_?" Please say you didn't…_ please_.

"And what if she had? This _is_ a free country, after all." Her gaze has become defiant. This leaves no doubt… how _could_ she? Doesn't she value my opinion at all? I have to muster all my strength to keep my countenance. And why does it feel like that Russian idiot had hit me in the stomach? Those pictures make me sick. This disgustingly confident fake smile on his face… can't she see? And why now?

"It may be a free country, but that doesn't make stupid choices any better. Don't you remember last time? I didn't trust him then, I don't trust him now." I'm positively staring at her now. "I hope you're not going to see him again, are you?" She simply can't be serious…

Obviously, she is, because she's sitting up straight now, opening her mouth ready to tell my something no doubt drastic - then thankfully thinking the better of it. I sight inwardly; she's taking a very deep breath. "Orion... what is this about? Carrow wrote some stupid article and Boreas kissed me. You know, _he_ kissed _me_. And besides: You are _not_ in a position to tell me what to do and how to live my life. If I wanted advice on that, I'd ask my parents."

That oaf didn't waste his time for sure, how can he have the audacity to kiss her, just like that? For some moments I'm simply staring at her. And how can she be so careless about it? Doesn't she see there's something fishy to that? And _I_ don't want _him_ anywhere near me, least of all in this apartment. "I'm not telling you what to do. But…" I would want to tell her what to do, actually. "For once I agree with Carrow. There's something dubious about him. Has he ever told you why he so suddenly disappeared in our last year at Hogwarts? Why has he miraculously re-appeared, just now?"

She's sighing. "This is a little ridiculous. We just met again and we just flirted a little, some small-talk... Besides, he did leave me a letter when he left. Orion... can't we just let this lie? This whole thing... got between us before, and I don't want anything of that again."

She has my word in that. I don't want anything of that, either._Anything_, Boreas back in her life least of all. Taking a deep breath, I sit down beside her and throw away the issue of Witch Weekly. I can't bear these pictures. I really don't want anything to get between us at the moment. With my marriage failed I'm not keen on loosing contact with Lavinia as well. I have turbulent times ahead anyway. "You're right, let it lie", I finally say, struggling to find a good change of topic. 

Lavinia however, seems to see it differently. "Just... one thing." That doesn't bode well… "I... um... I'm going to see him again on Friday. He... kind of asked me out." WHAT? I can't believe it. And the way she's sounding, she's going to accept the invitation. If she hasn't done it already. I can't take it. Maybe I can let it lie eventually, but I'm not…

Before I fully notice what I do, I get up from the sofa and turn to go to my room. But Lavinia's faster. She comes hurrying after me. "Sheesh, Orion. It's not a _date_ date. It's just two old friends meeting again after a long time. Not so different from how _we_ started over, you know." How can she be so extremely naïve? But it doesn't make sense trying to convince her…

I turn abruptly around on my heels. "The difference is that _I_ was married. But fine, go. I certainly won't hinder you. I just want to make myself clear: I don't trust him."

My stern gaze gets a bit softer when she's walking towards me. For a moment she's lifting up her hand hesitantly as if she wanted to touch my cheek, but putting it down again the next, looking up at me, saying: "Hey, don't worry. I appreciate your concern. But just... trust me. I know what I'm doing. Now... stop sulking?"

I shake my head slightly. No, I'm afraid I can't trust her in that, but she has still disarmed me somehow and I even smile vaguely. "Alright."

"I knew you'd come around. Come on, let's pick this article to pieces", she's suggesting, with an amicable thump to my side. 

I thump back and grin: "I didn't know you were giving Carrow so much credit."

_Lavinia:_

Oh well. A date. I mean… _not_ a date. Anyway, it's an old friend – a very attractive old friend, granted – and he deserves that I look my best. Orion got some nice-looking Lavinia, so Boreas will get one, too. It's just fair, really. 

I throw my reflection in the mirror a last scrutinizing look. Let's see… nice skirt, nice blouse, some make-up… not too slutty, but not business-like either… yep, good to go. I smooth over the skirt for a last time and then leave my room. When I'm just about to leave the flat, Orion appears in the living room door frame. He leans against it nonchalantly, one hand in his pocket and a mildly sarcastic half-grin on his face. "You're looking good tonight... made quite an effort considering you're _not_ going on a date."

I roll my eyes, but can't hold back a smile. Was this supposed to be a compliment? "You should see me when I _am_ going on a date." 

Surprisingly he grins a full-fledged grin now and just says: "Well, enjoy yourself." I want to wave him good-bye and finally leave, but he adds a mocking: "And don't be home late." 

I turn around another time, replying in the same mocking tone: "Ye-es, Daddy O." Out of some stupid impulse I blow him a kiss before heading out of the door. Giggling a little silly I head down the stairs to disapparate outside the apartment house.

When I apparate at the agreed apparition point, Boreas is already there, coming to me with open arms. He smiles brightly at me, giving me a bear-hug and a kiss on both cheeks when we finally meet. Oh, this Russian cordiality… so different from us Brits. After a booming "I'm so glad you could come, Vinushka!" he offers me his arm and leads me down the little side-street. Then we reach the restaurant. When I see the name plate above the door, I can't hold back an audible gasp. It's the _Kingdom and the Cave_, a fancy new wizarding hotspot; outside Diagon Alley and a real insider tip among the community. Oh dear.

He opens the door with great flourish and even sketches a short bow. Well, this one surely thinks he needs to treat me like a lady. He also takes off my coat, just giving me a charming grin at my feeble protestations. Oh well, Orion seems to have been a good teacher at enduring good manners then. 

The waiter at the front desk bows before us and instantaneously leads us to a secluded little corner. He wants to bring the menu, but Boreas just shakes his head and nearly whispers to the waiter: "The Special Dish, Andrews." Andrews then just bows again and rushes toward the kitchen. Mh. Already an exciting evening. 

"Well then… how have you been, Vinushka?" he asks and raises his eyebrows expectantly. Yes, how have I been? Let's see… I married, became a widow, became some Quidditch half-celebrity, became the flat-mate of a political journalism hotshot, became the target of Gossip-Queen Extraordinaire Lucinda Carrow…

"Oh, mostly well, as one could read in the _Prophet_'s Sports part. How have _you_ been? And… _where_ have you been?" The waiter from before is back now with two glasses of champagne and sets them before us. Now, remember what your grandmothers always told you: Just a little sip, unless you want to be a drunken harlot even before the dinner began.

"It's not really of importance where I've been. Here and there… Father dragged us through half the continent as long as I still went to school. He was a… very busy man." His face darkens a little and I remember that he'd been greatly at odds with his father, but no one knew why exactly. I never asked because I always felt like he wouldn't talk to me about this anyway. So I better refrain from asking 'He was? What happened to him?' then. 

I want to ask what he did after school, but he raises his glass to a toast and says: "To old friends found again. And maybe… new possibilities?" He winks, and I feel myself blushing a little. New possibilities… mh. I raise my glass as well.

"To old friends found again. And we'll… see about the other." With that the faint clinging of the glasses can be heard. He grins, but becomes sober very fast. What's the matter now?

"Lavinia… I heard about what happened to Tony. I'm… very sorry for your loss. I always thought you and him… were made for each other. A… how do you say here? Ah yes, a match made in heaven." With that he puts one of his big hands on mine and looks at me with very sincere sympathy. For a moment, my throat constricts, and that surprises even me. I really thought… I take a deep breath. This is certainly not how I want to spend this evening. 

"Thank you for your condolences. I appreciate it. But I really don't want to spend this beautiful evening with thinking about what could have been. So… how about… Oh yes… what did you do after school?" He wants to answer, but the waiter brings the entrée. I look at my dish. It's… errr... _something_.

As if sensing my total cluelessness the waiter starts to explain: "Baked niffler-breast on mandrake-carrot stock with romansco vegetables." I swallow, hard. Niffler… Tony and I used to meet each other at the nifflers' cage back in Hogwarts. I… Merlin, Lavinia, get a grip. It's been five years. Remember, Orion didn't want you to live in the past and Boreas certainly doesn't want to as well. I look up, and he gives me an encouraging smile. I try to smile back, hoping it doesn't look too forced and attack the meal before me. 

After a few bites I try to convince myself that it's not too bad – the vegetables actually _are_ very good – and make an appreciative face for Boreas' sake. He seems to enjoy the meal greatly so I guess my taste just isn't as refined as his. Or maybe just different. Anyway… I'd love it if he would answer my question now. I clear my throat and remind him that there's still an open question. He grins mischievously.

"Oh, I… took my time. I didn't really know what to do, except that I did _not_ want to follow my father's footsteps. I just… I travelled a lot. And when You Know Who was finished I took up a job as a vampire hunter in Romania." Oh… _wow_. I nearly choke on my last bite of niffler breast. 

"You've been hunting vampires for all these years in Romania?" McNeil, you sound like an idiot. Didn't he just say that?

"No.", he says, sounding a little mysterious. "After two or three years all the vampires of Romania had fled or were… deceased. After that I had offers to catch dragons in China, chase down acromantula in Afghanistan, hunt lethifolds on the Philippines…" Merlin. He always was a bold and daring type, but I'd never have patched him for some creature hunter. 

I guess my face said everything, because he gives me a radiant and dashing smile, fully befitting his illustrious exploits. He wants to add something, but the waiter brings the next course. It's… alright, I can recognize some meat and… "Swan breast filet with a sauce of rosemary and orange, dandelion salad and wild rice." Ah, that sounds nice. Not very magical, but… nice.

When the waiter is gone, Boreas takes up the conversation again. "Try the swan. Usually its meat is very oily and tough, but they have some excellent spells here to counter that." I just shrug and pick up a bite of swan. It's… it _is_ great. Very soft, tasting of… I have no idea what it tastes off, but it's delicious. And definitely not "tastes like chicken".

"You are right," I say between two bites, "it's great."

"Only the best for _you_, Vinushka." I feel myself blushing again. Okay, better distract him.

"Thank you. And well… what offer did you choose? And what are you doing now?" He waggles his eyebrows and grins.

"I took up all of them. One after the other, of course. As of today… I've been chasing banshees in Argentina for the last few months before I came here for a little break. I never expected to find something as beautiful as you here, though." Blushing again. Blushing, blushing, blushing… when was the last time I've been blushing like a school girl? Oh yes, when I still _was_ a school girl.

"I… uh… you must be confusing me with someone else." He flashes a smile.

"That's what I always so loved about you: Your modesty." I fear that I'm blushing even more now. It's been some time since I had any real compliments, okay? I mean… Orion's don't count because… well, they just don't count. Back to topic now.

"Thank you… uh… very much. Now…" And _again_ the waiter interrupts me, this time taking away the empty dishes. What is it with this guy? Can't he just… I don't know… make the food magically appear and disappear before us or something? And before I can start the sentence again, he's back with… errr… the dessert.

"Pavlova." Ah. Pavlova. Weeell… I can just suppress a shrug and want to start eating, but the waiter waves his wand and suddenly the pieces of fruit on top of the pavlova start to move around and finally settle into what looks like an intricate rose. Oh, wow. But that's not all. When the fruits are finally settled down, suddenly an iridescent magpie ascends from the centre of the rose, together with an iridescent snitch. After a short chase, the magpie catches the snitch and vanishes with some miniature fireworks. Dear… me. That was… errr… _surprising_. I look at Boreas, and he's practically beaming. Obviously I'm supposed to be impressed. And I _am_.

"Wow, that was… great. I don't think I've ever seen something like that. Think you could arrange something like that for the whole team when we win the National Cup this year?" He laughs a booming laugh and assures me that he will do everything in his power to achieve it. Mh. Knowing him… he means that. Uh oh. But he's just so enthusiastic, praising my Quidditch skills – clearly exaggerating, but once in a while every girl likes a little flattery on her skills in her field of expertise – and everything that I don't have the heart to tell him I actually meant the thing with the National Cup as a joke.

When we are done with the dessert, he refuses to let me pay my part and insists that I'm invited. What is it with guys and inviting me lately? As if I'm not making my own money. Pffft. But… he's looking still so adorable over the fact that he managed to delight me… let's just humour the Russian bear then. 

Finally we leave the restaurant and he's hinting at having one or two drinks at a nearby bar, but quite frankly I'm very tired and just want to be back at home… I guess I just need a little time to digest this whole new situation. So he finally just accompanies me home. When we are standing on the street in front of my house, suddenly a strange kind of tension has developed between us. It's the "Do you want some coffee?"-tension. 

"Well…"

"Well…"

We both laugh. I clear my throat and say: "Okay, um… I would… really like to ask you if you want to come up, but… you must be very tired." Oh well, actually he looks like _sleeping_ is not on his list of things he wants to do right now, but Orion's up there, and quite frankly… I don't want this evening to end with a scene.

He shakes his head, determined to tell me he's still wide awake. "Oh no, absolutely not. I would really like to…" And I would really like to, as well, but not with Orion up there.

"Well… uh, okay, I'm very sorry, what I meant was that _I_ am very tired. I'm really sorry." And I am, because I'm lying to him. 

"No,_I_ am sorry for keeping you awake for so long. And for wanting to pass even more time with you. Would you… would you do me the honour of another da… meeting?" Oooh. Is that a little… fluttering in my stomach at the thought of meeting Boreas again? 

"Of course. I would love to. I'll… owl you, huh?" Well done, McNeil. It means you won't have to wait for _him_ to owl _you_. Very clever indeed. 

He beams and nods. And _tension_ again. It's been so long I had a… _not_-date that I don't know if I let him kiss me now or the next time or… someone else has made the decision already for me, and his lips are on mine again. This time _something_ in me reacts and before I know it, I'm kissing him back. 

Suddenly he breaks the kiss, and in the first moment I'm actually irritated. It's been so long I've kissed someone like that… and only now I realise how I missed it. All I can muster up is a timid smile. "Goodbye, Lavinia McBean", he says and gives me a kiss on the forehead and with a goofy smile I'm ascending the stairs. It's only when I'm standing in front of my apartment that I realise that he used my maiden name. Huh? Well, he must be more tired than he let on.

* * *

**A/N: **First of all, we thank our last - unfortunately anonymous - reviewer for his or her comments on the story. We were a little puzzled at first, because we'd had a totally different perception of Lavinia, but when we realised that the review was written for Chapter 14 things became a little clearer, because she actually _is _a prick in that chapter. We sincerly hope that our reviewer continued reading and could maybe revise his or her judgement on Lavinia. If you did read further, please leave us a comment so we can see if we still need to improve writing her character. Comments of other readers are of course highly welcomed as well (and yes, I _know_ that Boreas is disgusting... but if you thought reading him is trying, better not imagine _writing_ him...).

Oh, and we decided to play a little guessing game with our readers: See who can guess which works (unintentionally) inspired this story the most and win a... a... cookie? Uh... yes, a cookie. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Twenty-Eight**

"_Ooh, I bet you're wondering how I knew__  
About your plans to make me blue  
With some other guy that you knew before.  
Between the two of us guys  
You know I love you more."_

_Marvin Gaye, "I heard it through the grapevine"_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

Here we go again. My third date in the space of a week. That's a new record, I'd say. Even if it's with the same guy. And even if none of them are really dates, at least not in _my_ book. The first one was just eating dinner to celebrate seeing him again after such a long time, the second one was him kind of kidnapping me for lunch break and the one to come today is just two friends paying a visit to Diagon Alley together. So no pressure.

Then why the hell am I standing in front of my wardrobe and feeling the good old "I don't have _anything_ to wear!"-despair? Really, it's _not_ going to be a date, even if Orion thinks it is. I mean, he doesn't _say_ he thinks it's going to be a date, but he just… lets you notice he disapproves and he thinks you're making a mistake. It's in the tone of his voice when he mentions "this date of yours" or the almost-concealed frown on his face when something about Boreas slips off my tongue.

Gah! Why do I even bother? He's just my flat-mate, just a _friend_. I don't have to justify _any_ of my decisions before him. I don't even have to consider whom _he_ considers worthy to date – or not-date – me and whom not. I'm totally free _not_ to listen to his advice. But still… something in the way he reacted to my retelling of the first not-date threw me offside. He was behaving absolutely civil, politely asking questions about where we went, what we talked about… but it felt suspiciously like he didn't really want to hear my answers. Not because he wasn't interested in them but because he was afraid he wouldn't like them.

No. That's ridiculous, McNeil, and you _know_ that. And you _still_ have no idea what to wear to your next not-date. Three hours left and you're already ready to call the whole thing off because of a severe wardrobe-crisis. This really isn't like you, and you know that. So pull yourself together and just pick _something_ to wear. Can't be that hard, really.

I heave a sigh. Maybe… I should just walk back into the living room, take a deep breath, read some of the mail that came in today and then come back and start over. Yeah. Good idea. So I walk into the living room and go over to the small stack of unread mail. Something beneath the first two letters catches my attention. It's something colourful… Now look what we've got here. This week's _Witch Weekly_ edition, sent by my mother and with a little note attached saying _"Have a look at page 13." _ What the…?

With a frown I open the magazine at the page my mother told me to. Sheesh, it's another Carrow-article. At first I want to shut the magazine and give my mother a good earful about stopping to send me these things but then my curiosity gets the better of me and I start to read.

_**No reconciliation – Yaxley files for divorce**_

_Only two days after they had been seen kissing passionately in public at the British Magical Press Ball, the marriage of one of the most popular pureblood couples has officially failed. Orion Yaxley has filed for divorce from his wife, Bryony Maycroft-Yaxley, early this morning at the Ministry._

_Lucinda Carrow reporting._

_Eight years after their marriage, Orion Yaxley and Bryony Maycroft-Yaxley are to go separate ways. While neither of the two divorcees-to-be wanted to comment on the action, emotions in the pureblood society are going high. "It's a disgrace to his family", an important member of said society commented to our magazine anonymously. "I don't understand how he could do this to his poor parents' memory." Yaxleys parents were murdered six years ago in a Death Eater attack, allegedly in revenge of their refusal to join ranks with the terrorist association._

"_They were glorious examples of pureblood integrity", says Crataegus Burke, president of the British Pureblood Association. "It's a pity their son is soiling their memory in such a disgracing way." The BPA is considering actions against Yaxley, should he not explain this drastic move to them convincingly. The couple is the first pureblood marriage to be dissolved in over thirty years. "We're going to make sure they're not setting a new trend by it", Burke assured his concerned fellow purebloods._

_While the pureblood society is still in shock, the general public is speculating about the reasons of this unexpected move. "I suspect she hasn't been willing to endure his escapades any longer. Their public kiss at the Magical Press Ball clearly showed their efforts to sort out their differences", Jasper Brooks, acknowledged expert on the pureblood society thinks. "As Yaxley is in the stronger position after her parents have been exposed as Death Eaters, he must have refused to accept her conditions." However, Brooks isn't convinced this strategy will pay off for him. "Purebloods are expected to honour their word and not to break up marriages. It is a well known fact that many pureblood-marriages resemble business arrangements. I'm surprised that a Yaxley of all people would break with that tradition."_

_In any case, a new love can be excluded as reason for the divorce. Neither Yaxley nor Maycroft-Yaxley is the type of person likely to develop romantic feelings. As rumour has it that Yaxley has in fact not moved back to his family seat in Norfolk like announced, his current whereabouts remain obscure. Let's hope he's not breaking some new unsuspecting women's hearts._

So _that's_ what Orion meant when he'd told me he didn't enjoy the New Year's Eve Ball. Why the hell didn't he just tell me he'd get a divorce? He's a pureblood, so this is no small affair for him, meaning it's pretty improbable that he just forgot about telling me. I mean… we're friends, right? And… isn't something like a divorce something you tell your friends rather than conceal it from them? What is he playing at, not telling me about it and all?

But why am I even fretting about this? And _why_ did my heart just flip-flop at the word "divorce"? Friends, McNeil, _friends_; which means you're _not_ supposed to get a kick out of him getting divorced. It means you are going to be worried for him and be sympathetic. So bloody _be_ worried and sympathetic. Don't think "About time he did that". Worried. Sympathetic. Worried…

Bugger. Just doesn't work. Exasperated I fling the paper into the furthest corner of the room, startling April and Pleiades from their rest. Suddenly solving the wardrobe crisis doesn't seem so unappealing anymore. At least it will get my mind off this bloody divorce mess.

Or maybe not. The moment I am about to cross the hall to reach my room, the door opens and Orion comes into the hall, looking a little out of breath. Out of some strange reason I immediately put on a cheerful face, as if to conceal my excitement over the not-date and the puzzlement over the whole divorce thing and welcome him with: "Hey, been chased up the stairs by a pair of banshees looking like Lucinda Carrow?"

His first reaction is to stare at my bewildered, then he catches himself and drawls a half-absent "It would be likely at least." while hanging up his robe and taking of his shoes. Then he looks at me again, raising an eyebrow and asking in a casually interested tone: "_That's_ how you're going on your date?"

Startled I look down myself. Yeah, well, still running around in track pants and a Magpies t-shirt, McNeil. Then I grumble: "Of course. Nothing like house rags for taking a little stroll around Diagon Alley."

He's still serious, nodding and saying: "I'm glad you've finally come to senses.", with just a hint of sarcasm attached to it.

I roll my eyes and answer: "I'll remind you of that the next time _we_ are going out together." Then I remember the _Witch Weekly_ article and my curiosity makes me force the issue and ask: "By the way, when did you plan on telling me you're about to become the first pureblood divorcee in over thirty years?" Okay. That sounded a bit more passive-aggressive than it was intended to.

"Oh... that." Carefully put strategic pause. I wonder what's about to come now. "You seemed so occupied with all your dates and everything lately, I didn't deem it important enough." Nhg. Should have seen this coming.

"They are _not_ dates. And you should have learned by now that I'm always there if a friend wants to talk to me." I mean that. Ever since Christmas he really should know I'd listen to him if he wanted me to.

"I'll remind you of that if I _do_ need to talk to you." My, my, and here I thought _I_ was the queen of the land called Passive-Aggressiva.

"I'll be glad to be of service. Oh, by the way, you might want to have a look at the mail stack. There are a few letters for you with distinctly _female_ handwritings on them. Seems like Carrow's latest article has made quite the impact." Let's see if he takes the bait and asks me about why I'm sifting through his mail. But I haven't been, honestly. I just saw them lying there, that's all.

He rolls his eyes. "It's a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." Err… beg pardon?

"Orion Yaxley quoting a Muggle writer? That must be one of the sure signs of the approaching Apocalypse." Oh, and I have only two and a half hours left to get ready for the date… not-date… Merlin, _who_ am I trying to kid? This _is_ a date, all the way through from picking me up to giving me a good-bye kiss down on the pavement after accompanying me home. Still doesn't mean I'll let Orion call them dates. Then something regarding Orion and dating Boreas comes to my mind. "Oh, and Orion… Boreas will be coming around to pick me up here today. So… I know I'm asking a lot of you, but try not to cause a scene, will you?"

"Why would I cause a scene?" he smirks and without a further word retreats to the living room to take care of his mail.

I just can't resist calling out "Because you're Orion Yaxley, stupid!" before finally disappearing into my room again.

_Orion:_

Why? Why the heck does she have to date this guy of all people? I can't even call something after her; she left the hall in such a hurry. As if I hadn't problems enough with my own life. I had never expected people to react so harsh... I mean, yes, I knew that purebloods weren't supposed to get divorced; who would know better than me? But I wouldn't have thought it possible that some people... other than Carrow... could make something like a state crisis out of it.

I had almost started thinking about cancelling the entire thing and get back to Bryony just for appearance's sake. But that wouldn't do... no, that's absolutely impossible. It's done, it's over. And there's no use pondering over it right now, because I have to be ready when the idiot arrives here. If my world is slowly falling apart entirely, I at least want to be sure Lavinia's doesn't. I don't want to fight a war on two fronts...

There's something fishy about this guy, Roshenkov. I'm pretty sure it's not by accident that he had found his way back into her life just weeks after me. He had made incredible claims when we were at Hogwarts, claims that could never really be proofed wrong and mysterious things started happening as soon as he had joined Slytherin house. Even if he could turn out to be harmless in the end, I'm sure he's hiding some dirty secrets... things Lavinia wouldn't approve of if she knew them.

And there goes the bell. Before Lavinia can even stir in her room and rush to the door – I'm pretty sure she's still trying to figure out what to wear on the occasion – I go there and open it.

"Ahh, Vinushka..." an enthusiastic voice is booming at me. Vinushka? I could vomit... but I have to stick to my plan whatever he says. The idiot has obviously grown even broader and more muscled and he's looking even more self-satisfied than he did at Hogwarts. "... or maybe not", his voice is now less-than-enthusiastic. He's staring at me coldly. "Obviously the wrong address."

This guy talks like a zombie, honestly. What does she see in him? I raise an eyebrow and want to tell him that he's indeed got the wrong address, but I have forgotten that Lavinia is still in her room. Or isn't, anymore. Because here she comes, storming out of the bathroom and... wait a minute! She's actually hurrying towards us in her dressing gown and her hair wrapped in a towel like a turban. Lavinia is the only person I know who would dare making such an appearance!

I'm quite speechless, when she addresses Boreas: "Oh hey, Boreas. You're a bit early..." the Russian oaf actually smiles like a lovesick dimwit and is obviously trying to say something, but Lavinia beats him to it, continuing: "I'm so sorry, but I'm not done yet. Could you wait just a few minutes? Thank you. Now, I'll just... errr... you know." With that, she's already half disappeared back into her room.

Just when I want to turn back to her admirer, I hear her calling "Behave, boys!" I roll my eyes and turn back to the dumbstruck guy in front of me. "Now... is this the address you've been looking for, sir?" I have to muster all my professionally trained cordiality to make the question appear neutral and non-committal.

"Quite so", is the cold answer. Maybe that's the Siberian influence.

I shrug and step aside. "Enter, then", I say and just as he sets foot on the floor in the hall, one of the fixtures of the hat stand gives way and several coats drop on the floor. I jump a little. WHAT was that? I throw a suspicious look at Roshenkov, but he acts surprised himself.

When I close the door behind him and silently repair the hat stand with a flick of my wand, I realise that he had brought flowers... one red rose in a bouquet of green. Again, I nearly vomit. A red rose... but it's no date at all, Lavinia. How naive someone has to be not to get that message? I'm no stranger to flower code, and red roses are about the highest compliment you can present a lady.

Maybe they don't know such subtleties in Russia... I raise an eyebrow again. "I can't recall that the Lady likes red", I say.

"And I can't recall the lady having a spokesman." There's a slightly intimidating undertone in his voice. But he'd need a lot more venom to scare me.

"In that case", I answer, "you surely don't know her very well." If Lavinia heard me, she would be very angry right now. But if I could scare this dim-witted troll away with it, I would take up with as much of her anger as she wants.

"As opposed to whom? You?" he's trying to puff up a little more and is throwing me one of those sickeningly self-confident looks of his. I can't help but smile. Dangerous territory.

"Of course I didn't realise you were living here", I say to him, not bothering to hide a mocking undertone. "Funny, isn't it? And there's me believing that this is my apartment..." Stretching the truth, Yaxley. Stretching it, yes, but I haven't been exactly lying. It's Lavinia's apartment, true, but I've been living here for some time and I've insisted on paying at least a little rent. So... it is kind of my apartment, too, for the moment.

It's obvious that our Russian hero is slowly losing his countenance. His glares are openly hostile. "Listen, Yaxley, whatever you're playing at... _I_ know someone who'd pay a fortune for the little thing you just blabbed out." Oh! Oh! Actually, I have to give him a little credit. For a moment, he has got me... damn Carrow! I have to make her shut up on me and fast... I hope the lead I have found on her soon confirms itself, because that would effectively silence her... but I have to silence _this_ troll here, first.

I force myself into a defiant smile: "I'm sure you do", I say and grip the handle of my wand a little firmer, you never know. "_Vinushka_" – I put a lot of mock emphasis on the word, what an awful nickname – "will simply adore you for that; putting the hyena back on her track... I didn't expect anything else from you."

Nothing. There's no answer to that on his part, except an absolutely icy gaze. I'm glaring back at him. We are both saved by Lavinia. She's leaving her room and slithering towards us on the parquet. She's grabbing the door frame to prevent her from falling, straightens up and after a slight cough she's smiling like nothing had just happened. "Okay, I'm good to go. Thanks for waiting. And for... not killing each other." She's obviously just realised we hadn't exactly smiled at each other in a friendly way.

Roshenkov only needs a split second to appear totally changed. With a smile he surely deems to be charming – totally overdoing it in my opinion – he's beaming at Lavinia. "_I_ have no idea why we should be attacking each other."

I involuntarily snort, but catch myself and merely murmur: "No. No idea at all." He hasn't even heard it, because he's so fixed on Lavinia, who's putting on her shoes now and tells him to go ahead already.

But that would have been too nice, having a few moments to talk to Lavinia in private. "Oh no, I'm quite comfortable here. I'm comfortable wherever I can see you", Roshenkov is assuring her... I shiver, if only slightly. There's something creepy in his voice and in that promise, something that sounds uncomfortably like a threat.

When Lavinia has put her shoes on, I go to her and before she can put on her coat as well, I whisper: "Are you sure you want to go?" I can't hide that I'm a little worried.

"Of course I am. Will you just stop this stupid big brother thing you have suddenly going?" she's whispering back, rolling her eyes. Is she right? Am I acting like an overprotecting big brother? I can't believe she's really that blind. Hasn't she heard the creepy undertone in his voice? I risk a glance in his direction. He's standing there beside the door, hiding his obvious anger on me behind a fake smile.

"I'm only cautious", I whisper back and feel his piercing glare on me.

But Lavinia isn't. She's unsuspecting... and seemingly more annoyed with me than with him: "You're acting out of character. By the way... Did I imagine that or was something in this hall causing some noise just a few minutes ago?" She's asking almost soundlessly.

I have to leave it for now; I can see him getting impatient. That's why I lean closer to her to answer in an equally low voice: "Nothing, just a loose fixture on the hat stand." It had been odd, though, that it had dropped precisely when the Russian had put his foot in the hall... but I can't tell her that just now. "Have a nice afternoon, anyway", I continue... and before I can think clearly what I do, I place a kiss on her cheek... maybe just to appear even closer to her in Roshenkov's eyes. "Take care", I hiss and as reluctant as I feel to let her go, I still turn on my heels and go to the living room without waiting for her reaction or watching them leave.

All I hear is the door closing behind them. Suddenly, the apartment is uncomfortably silent. I let myself fall on the sofa... her smell lingers in my nose. It had been nothing; we had only been close enough a split second before I had turned around. But it had been enough...

It reminds me of Hogwarts, of this strange evening when we had been arguing over something I can't even remember now. The only time when I had been so overwhelmed with some strange attraction that I had forgotten all good senses and had kissed her. I had almost wished... it had resembled... nonsense. She had been storming out of the broom closet as soon as we had broken apart and we have never talked about it afterwards. "And that's been the sensible thing to do", I say aloud and get up again. Maybe some more research on Carrow will divert my attention.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks a _lot_ to **luna** for her two reviews. I do think "puffin" kind of stuck on Orion, even if Lavinia doesn't know it yet and prefers the incredibly repulsive Boreas over him. He does serve a purpose, though, so please stay with us, even if it might get even uglier than now. I can still assure you that writing him is not really a pleasure.

However, we do write this story mostly for our own entertainment so there's not much danger we might not continue it. We really mean to finish it, even it may cost us lots and lots and _lots_ of chapters. And of course we are happy about every faithful reader, no matter how few they are.

On a side note: I just finished a little prequel (so to speak), because after listening to "Carry you home" just one time too often and watching the (incredibly sad) video I couldn't help writing the scene where Lavinia gets told about Tony's death. So... if anyone wants to read that, just say so.


	29. Chapter 29

**Twenty-Nine**

"_So long, my luckless romance__  
My back is turned on you  
Should've known you'd bring me heartache  
Almost lovers always do."_

_A Fine Frenzy, "Almost Lover"_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

Oh. Well. It was certainly not supposed to happen like _this_. But it did, and quite honestly… I don't regret it one bit. When I set off for a little stroll around Diagon Alley with Boreas I really hadn't intended to… well… hop into bed with him at the end of the day, but it just… happened. First a little shopping, then having something to eat… okay, and a little snogging… and suddenly we were at his apartment and… you get the rest. And I have to say: It was worth it. It feels a little strange, after all those single years, but it feels so…

Oh. Does Orion always have breakfast at seven in the morning on a _Saturday_ morning? Obviously, because he doesn't look at me when I saunter into the kitchen but takes up his tea cup perfectly calm and just says: "You're late." Mh. Do I detect a slightly irritated note in that? Well… even if there was, I choose to ignore it.

"No. I'm rather early." And with a smile I just can't hide I sit down opposite him. Obviously he doesn't want to dignify this with an answer, because he just raises an eyebrow over the rim of his tea cup at me. What? "And yes, a good morning to you, too, and thanks for asking how my evening was. I rather enjoyed it, you know. How did you spend the evening?" Let's see if _that_ gets me any other reaction than controlled Orion.

"Nothing of importance. I've done some research." And then nothing. A little clipped, too. So we're back at being monosyllabic. But I'm determined not to let him spoil my mood. Maybe… maybe the whole divorce-thing is getting more at him than he wants to let on.

"Ah. Sounds fantastic." Pause. Yes, a dramatic one. I can do this, too, you know. "Orion, if this thing with the divorce is hard on you, you could just say so. I'm your friend, don't forget that."

"It isn't bothering me, I assure you." Of course not. And of course it's totally coincidentally that the page you've just been reading is the one with the Society news, where just _totally_ out of coincidence about _everyone_ who has any say in the pureblood world is giving his or her statement about the outrageous act of you getting a divorce. Before I can comment on that, though, he asks: "Weren't you merely supposed to go shopping yesterday?" in a completely innocent and harmless tone, but my mind plays stupid tricks on me and tries to make me believe I've seen the corners of his eyes tighten up just this little bit.

"Sure. But I never said it was to be _only_ shopping." At first he doesn't answer, just folds up his newspaper and starts buttering his toast.

Then: "You have strange notions of meetings that are not dates", totally casual and kind of on the side. Merlin, what is it with that guy today? It's almost as if… he suspects something. But even if he did, why would that bother him? And why does it bother _me_ that it _could_ bother him?

"Actually… I think this whole dating business is totally overrated. If I want to be with someone, I just do it. I really don't need to put a label on it." Ngh. Why do I always start to sound passive-aggressive so fast when I'm talking about Boreas with Orion?

Again he just raises his eyebrows, this time over his toast. Hey! This is _not_ a very polite way to have a conversation. Actually, this is _no_ way to have a conversation _at all_. "What? Come on, Orion, I know you want to say something, though I have no idea what the hell it could be. Save us both the misery and spill it."

"You sound pretty convinced, considering you've spent the entire last week assuring me that you're _not_ going on dates." _Definitely_ sounding a little unnerved now. _What_ is his problem? Okay, so he can't stand Boreas. But didn't we establish that this is my life and I don't want him to judge it? I surely didn't judge what happened between Bryony and him at the Press Ball, at least not to his face.

"Orion, we both know that this is not about your and my definition of a date. Could we just… let this lie? I don't tell you what you don't want to know anyway, and you don't give me the monosyllabic treatment. Agreed?" Come on, take that straw; let's not spoil this beautiful sunny winter morning after a beautiful winter night with fighting.

"It wasn't me who started the topic." Or not. Either he _really_ hates Boreas or the divorce thing is grating on his nerves. I just don't see why he refuses to talk about it. We're _friends_, for Merlin's sake, we even live in the same apartment. Normal friends _talk_ about their impending divorces or their first sex after more than five years. And to be honest: When I came home, I actually felt like I just _had_ to burst out and talk about this. Lucky me that the only friend who seems close enough for talking about that is Orion who happens to harbour some deep resentment against the guy I just went to bed with. Suddenly I'm not hungry anymore, and I'm not really in the mood for talking to Orion, either.

"You know what: If you want to sulk for no apparent reason, then hey, go on, sulk all you want. _I_ will just go to bed and catch up on the sleep I lost last night." For a moment, everything is silent. Then, suddenly, the toast is put down rather forcibly and the rattling of his cutlery can be heard.

"For no apparent reason? Honestly? Should I jump up and down in celebration because you go out and sleep with someone like Roshenkov whom even Lucy Carrow decidedly qualifies as dubious?" He says it cool and controlled but this time the irritated and downright furious note is _definitely_ there. I'd even go as far as to say that people who are not Orion would be shouting by now. People like me.

"You have _no_ right to judge me for that. And I didn't ask you for celebration either. I just asked for _acceptance_. But obviously Orion Yaxley can only accept things that happen in the very narrow bounds of what is deemed proper by him." Okay, that was a low blow. But it's still right. I don't want him to _like_ Boreas – although that would make a lot of things easier – I just want him to accept that Boreas may become a constant part in my life, just like friends do.

But he's in full agitation mode now. "Of course you're so much better a judge than me. How silly of me to actually care for your safety. Haven't you seen how he looked at _me_ yesterday? Didn't he _accidentally_ interfere with our friendship once already? But of course it's me who has narrow bounds, like when I'm eating all the crap for daring to divorce a wife who hasn't officially offended me in any way." And of course it's all dripping with sarcasm.

"Okay… wait… _I_ never judged you for the whole divorce-thing. If I may remind you: I was actually offering you my shoulder to cry on and my support." I think I'll just ignore all this stuff about my "safety" and "how Boreas looked at Orion". Really, that's just… ridiculous. I never thought _Orion_ would let himself be blinded by feelings of rationally totally unfounded antipathy.

"Fine. Misunderstand me if you like. I was only saying that I don't unnecessarily stick to principles if I have reasons against them. It's not about the divorce in particular." Of course it's not. The fact that you're starting to become ostracised by practically the whole pureblood society for _rightfully_ dissolving a marriage that has no future anyway has _nothing_ to do with your recent crankiness. Right.

Go tell that to the Dementors.

"So what _is_ it about? _Why_ can't you just accept that I choose to be with Boreas, even if you for some strange reason I really don't get, think he's not good enough for me or anything? _I_ am the only one who decides who's good enough for me and who isn't." I really thought the times when other people thought they have the right to make my decisions and fight my battles even if I'm grown-up are over. Obviously I was wrong.

"So this is how you're defending that you're ignoring all my objections? It's not about whether he's good enough for you – which he is not – it's about serious concerns about his sincerity. I'm sure he's hiding something material from you, I had found inconsistencies in his tales back at school and I find his reappearance here more than fishy, though I can't prove anything, yet. Why should I trust your judgement if you won't even listen to mine?" He didn't just openly accuse Boreas of something he can't even prove, right?

"I think the question should be another one: Why should I listen to obviously unproven and unjustified accusations? If that's what you call "judgement" then I seriously wonder how you could become second editor-in-chief."

_Orion:_

I'm speechlessly staring at her after that. How dares she! Not listening to my objections is one thing, but to doubt my professional skills over it is way beyond! I don't understand why she's reacting in such a way; where does this infatuation for such a creepy person come from? Surely it can't have developed only during last week... I already considered him having used a love potion or an entrancing enchantment – but cast it aside. I had an unfortunate experience with an entrancing enchantment once in my sixth year at Hogwarts and it had been entirely different. So, she must actually be _charmed_ by him in some twisted way.

Suddenly, I'm aware that I've been paralysed by her remark at least for several seconds and stir again. "Leave my work out of it", I reply her, in an icy-cold voice and positively glare at her. Actually, investigative journalism relies heavily on instincts before you start research, but what should Lavinia understand about such things. "They're not unfounded, if you would _listen_ to me."

"Well then... enlighten me. Go on", she's waving her hand at me, trying hard to appear bored. I know she's annoyed. I roll my eyes and consider not telling her. I have no hopes she'll even listen to what I have to say. Obviously she's determined to believe that Boreas is the saint he pretends to be and I fear nothing I could say would make her change her opinion. Exactly like back at school, when I had the same suspicions about him and she had chosen him over me. It's annoying. I clear my throat, this time for real.

"First, if you don't remember them, I have already told you about my suspicions at school; the strange things that have happened when he arrived at Hogwarts, for instance. Have you never doubted his tale about why he had been in Slytherin? Even my family had been very determined that nobody – no one whatsoever in the long history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – had ever had the right to choose his house by himself without putting on the Sorting Hat. Why would Boreas Roshenkov be the only exception? When even Professor Snape had contradicted it? But of course you people rather believed Roshenkov than the Professor. I'm sure he has told you the same ridiculous tale about how the staff wouldn't confess they had granted his father this exceptional favour – because they feared to state a precedent."

I take a deep breath. "The very first day Boreas Roshenkov had joined Slytherin House, our best chaser Isabelle Rowle had a regrettable 'accident' on her way to Hogsmeade – and guess what? – No witnesses and her unable to mount a broom ever again. But even more mysterious" – I pause for drama – "the next day, Boreas Roshenkov is on the team _without_ trials. Strange, isn't it?"

"That's... preposterous. Honestly, Orion, that's complete rubbish. The Sorting Hat thing was exactly like you said – an exception, granted by the staff. And why should that be of any importance? It's not like he killed someone for that." I shake my head in disbelief. How can she actually think... I want to answer that it would prove that Boreas had been lying about a serious thing at least once, but she's interrupting me as soon as I open my mouth to speak.

"And that thing with Rowle was an accident. What reason should he have to hurt her?"

That's unbelievable! What has he done to her? "Lavinia, just because you would never do such a thing to secure yourself a good position in a team doesn't mean nobody would do it." I'm looking at her very seriously.

Lavinia is far from giving up: "Orion... think again. You're trying to tell me why Boreas isn't sincere _now_ with stories from _ten years ago_. That doesn't make any sense. Up to now you didn't give me _anything_ newer than ten years." So, she's changing tactics; too bad for her that I have some arguments about that as well. I lean back in my chair in an effort to calm myself down a bit and sit up again only before answering.

"As you wish", I say in an unusually snappy voice. "Let's talk about the present. For instance, I wonder why he miraculously reappeared in your life, just weeks after me. It's such an odd coincidence that he would always interfere with us, whenever we try to be friends."

I lean back again. "But you wanted facts. I can't blame you for that, I have them." I pause another time to collect my thoughts. "Have you never asked yourself why he had ordered a special menu at the restaurant on your first date?" At least I'm allowed to call them dates now. "Isn't it an odd coincidence, that in a menu he ordered especially for you, the first course contains of niffler, when everybody knows that you and Tony used to meet at the niffler's cage? And then, second course containing swan, a meat not normally edible but with very heavy modifications by magic – which just so happens to be the animal on my family's crest. I assure you, if my father was still alive and he had found out that some restaurant was serving swan, he would have challenged them in a duel immediately." I exhale to hide a trace of growing desperation.

"But if you still believe this to be a coincidence, maybe the dessert may convince you. Pavlova, a Russian dish, Russian like Boreas... first Tony, than me and at last, he himself", I sigh. "He's soiling the memory of your late husband; he's insulting me and my family; and finally he puts himself forward in a rather gross way. Remember what you said when we first talked about him – you didn't want him to get between us again, and here he is, only a week later and we're already fighting like last time."

After I have finished, silence. Lavinia is rather red in her face, desperately ringing for words. She looks like she's debating whether to strangle me right away or answer first, at least – quite scary, actually. "This... this is _ridiculou_s", she sounds like she's going to scream at me any minute now. "How dare you... Boreas would _never_ insult my marriage." Blind, so blind! "This is all so very far-fetched... one could think you dragged this all the way from China to here! I can't... this is just... and we're fighting because _you_ obviously have some issues you can't get a grip on and think you have to take this out on me, because _I_ am just starting something that could eventually become a very happy relationship while your own is falling to pieces. You're just being unfair and jealous!"

This is it. I jump up from my seat without thinking properly. I'm not going to listen to such insults any longer. "I have heard enough. Either you're valuing my friendship or you go mess around with Roshenkov as much as you like, but I don't let you insult me any longer." I'm walking to the door and turn around only when I reach it. "It's obvious how you're going to choose so I spare you. I very much regret it. And be sure that this time I'm taking my things with me immediately." With that, I'm out in the hall and off to my room.

I'm so agitated while I pack my things that I need several tries to finally get the charm right and accidentally burn the curtains at the window. Never mind that now; she can let _him_ repair it. Perfect, charming, adorable Boreas Roshenkov who would never do anything wrong... why is she so blind? I have no chance competing with that. He has totally mesmerized her.

It's against my inclination to leave here, but what choice did I have? As much as we had just been fighting, as angry as I am at the moment, I don't want this friendship to end. Hadn't it been the one thing I had counted on when I decided to divorce my wife?

There is a new, strange and pressing thought mounting in me while I'm finishing packing up. I should... I look at the empty room, the blank walls and again the images and sensations of that one crazy evening at Hogwarts come to my mind. I... I would have liked to... maybe to try it again, see if it felt the same. Don't I have anything to lose?

When I'm leaving the room, some strange, incontrollable part of me is actually convinced to leave all doubts aside, to run up to Lavinia and just... kiss her again; one last time, like Bryony. I'm only half realizing that it would be folly. Lavinia is standing in front of me in the hall, arms crossed in front of her chest, glaring.

"And my best wishes to your wife."

Those words thankfully get me back to reality faster than I can think. At least the somewhat mysteriously elated feeling I just had is gone entirely and I'm nothing but angry again.

Totally ignoring her low blow against my situation, I pass her and leave the apartment. Strange, that this should be the second London dwelling I leave for good in ten days.

* * *

**A/N: **Whee! Another chapter (quite easy, when you're always two chapters in advance with the writing...)! And thanks to **luna **(who might be hating us now...) for the review. We so hoped someone would notice the reference :D Maybe it's pretty easy now to guess which author rareb has been practically devouring the last few weeks ;)

BTW, reading this chapter while listening to "Goodbye, my Lover" and "Tears and Rain" is definitely _not _a good idea. Too much James Blunt for me recently, obviously.


	30. Chapter 30

**Thirty**

"_It's just that everywhere I go all the buildings know your name  
Like photographs and memories of love  
Steel and granite reminders  
The city calls your name and I can't move on."_

_Savage Garden, "The Lover after me"_

* * *

_Orion:_

You can't rely on people, even, no, particularly if you call them 'friends'. The fight with Lavinia wasn't the last disappointment I had had the last weeks. None of my pureblood 'friends' are talking to me anymore, not one has bothered to visit me since the divorce has become known. They've all excused themselves, one reason fishier than the other.

The only thing I can really rely on is work. It's not the first time I come to this conclusion and I'm more sure that it's true than ever. Nothing but work has kept me going since New Year. And there is enough to do to last me half a lifetime. The troubles in Argentina are getting worse every day, they're apparently at the brink of war – and two of my most trusted reporters of the political department are chasing trails of British Death Eaters in the region. If a day had more than twenty-four hours I could write even more about it.

I'm currently following some very disquieting leads here in Britain, have evidence, maybe even proof that some of those who had fled five years ago have returned. I've been there nine years ago, when the war had broken out again, almost literally in the middle of celebrations of the victory in the Battle of Hogwarts. The confusion and horror that had ruled those first days, when it had become apparent that it wouldn't be just a short crisis caused by some psychopaths, is still very present now. It had taught me valuable lessons. Like, staying calm and focussed on the story I'm going to follow, whatever happens.

It's eleven o'clock in the evening, tomorrow's issue is about to get into print, but I'm waiting here in my office for the long-distance floo-call of Johnson from Argentina. It's eight o'clock in the evening in Buenos Aires and he is to give me his plans for tomorrow. An owl with their latest findings had already reached me two hours ago, just enough to work it into an article. I'm collecting all kinds of information at the moment, not just on Argentina and the Death Eaters, but on Lucinda Carrow as well. Just yesterday, one of my contacts at the ministry paid me a visit and handed over an impressive stack of material I couldn't even look through yet.

The call from Johnson is soon over; he has nothing in particular to tell. I'm tired when I get up from the fireplace. Since I've left Lavinia's apartment I've hardly slept more than four hours a night. There had always been so much to do; and going back to the empty mansion only reminded me of Lavinia and made me feel sad and lonely. I've never returned before I hadn't been so tired I could barely keep my eyes open; such as now.

It's only somewhat past eleven but I feel the lack of sleep of the last days. There probably won't be any merit in staying here much longer, particularly because I've already set early morning meetings tomorrow.

I'm in the middle of packing my things to leave to Norfolk, when sudden green flames in the fireplace announce another floo-call. What could that be? Who would contact me so late?

There's no room to ponder as Johnson's head re-appears in the flames. He's looking a lot more worried than he had only minutes ago. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"Peters", Johnson simply answers. Peters is our colleague who's working with him in Argentina.

"What's with him?" I hate it when people aren't getting to the point in situations as this.

"Yaxley, Peters has disappeared", is the answer. Johnson obviously tries hard to sound unaffected and professional, but I know this kind of voice too well from my own experience. Johnson is as scared as he is worried. "He was supposed to turn up quarter an hour ago to tell me his progress. He hasn't arrived. And you know Peters! He's never late. Never! I've known nobody more punctual than him, maybe except you, Yaxley-" I interrupt him.

"Don't digress, Johnson. What's with Peters? Facts only!" Normally I'm patient, but in all the years working here, I have taken up some of the editor-in-chief's nervous habits myself.

"As I told you, he hasn't turned up, left no note, no message, nothing. His landlord told me he had left his room as usual this morning, but hadn't been in for lunch as he used to and had announced this morning. Peters has last been seen today, 8.30 AM", Johnson is sounding openly worried.

"You suspect him to have become a victim of the Mortífagos?" That's shocking news! There had been mysterious disappearances for some time in Argentina. People who just didn't come home anymore, maybe abducted by the Mortífagos, the Argentinian Death Eaters, maybe killed and transfigured by them, never to be found again or let loose somewhere in the wild without memory of who they are, where they are and what they do – or yet with modified memories thinking to be someone else. It had all been done before... could my own reporter be a victim?

"I fear it, Yaxley. Everything points in that direction", Johnson says through the fire. Everything in his attitude is screaming 'I'm scared.' He is the son of a real legend on war coverage, is himself a routine reporter but had never yet worked on such a dangerous subject as this.

"Damn it! I hope you're wrong", I exclaim. I'm not in the least tired anymore. Nothing keeps you better awake than the adrenalin rush of a new story – even more so if you have to be worrying for your co-worker. "Please follow the case further and send me all the information you can get as soon as you can afford it. I need to be up to date. I'll keep the Editor-in-Chief informed." With these words, Johnson leaves the floo and I'm standing alone in my office again.

Two and a half hours later I'm finally back in Norfolk. Nobody is waiting for me here except faithful Bongo who's opening the door for me. "Does Master need anything?" he asks eagerly.

"No, nothing at the moment. I call you if I do." He bows and disapparates. Maybe I should have asked him to stay. The excitement that had kept me awake these last hours is wearing off. I feel I could lie down and sleep right here, in the entrance hall. Nobody would find me here or care anyway, except maybe the house elves - or it could cause Lady Carina a laughing fit – if ghosts can still get fits, that is.

Normally, I would lie down on the sofa in the small salon for some hours in situations like this and Bongo would make sure I got a proper cushion and blanket. But Christmas and Lavinia have robbed me of this possibility. I haven't entered this room since I've been back here; the same for the morning room upstairs. It feels like she's all over the place whenever I get here, like my parents' memory used to be.

That's unnerving! Just the person I'm most keen on forgetting is popping up in my thoughts and memories in every possible and impossible situation. Why did I ever invite her to stay here over Christmas? I have let her invade my private life and now I have nowhere to retire to. Even Bryony, who had been my wife for eight years, had never achieved anything like it. I'm stumbling into the first guest room I can think of and let myself fall on the bed there. I don't think I've ever used it before.

And here I am again, instead of sleeping, thinking of her and feeling thoroughly miserable. I just can't figure out what went wrong. At Christmas, we seemed to finally have settled all our differences and I had been looking forward to living quietly with her for a little while... or maybe... longer. I'm sure in time we would have seen everything more clearly, maybe when my divorce had been safely through and Lucinda Carrow silenced... but... it just never came to that. Why did this Russian idiot turn up now? And why is she so blind for him?

Should I have stayed despite her obvious infatuation for him, despite my hatred for him? I couldn't stop worrying for her then, I can't even now. On the other hand, I couldn't have born to meet with a self-sufficiently smiling Roshenkov another time. He had won her over very quickly, too quickly for my liking, and there is nothing to be done about that at the moment.

_Lavinia:_

Whee! Whoever thought tidying up your place could actually be a pleasure? That's a completely new experience for me, and I intend to savour it as long as it lasts. I mean… really, it was about time. Haven't had a real cleaning bout in about… well… months. But since my life started to take off in a totally new direction I felt like my flat needed to reflect that.

After all this weeks of topsy-turvy stuff, annoying reporters, team mates and flat mates, it seems like things are starting to look so much better. The reporters seem to have gone off my tail – or maybe Lucinda Carrow is just planning the ultimate gossip attack, but I don't care anyway, life's too good for that at the moment – Chiverston has started to let me be in peace again and well… the flat is mine again. That's so much better, really.

But the best part is: Am now having the first real relationship after five years in the wilderness. And that just feels so bloody _good_. Being with Boreas makes me feel cherished and adored and wanted again, and I only realised two weeks ago how much I missed this feeling. He actually makes me feel like a _woman_ again. He's attentive, open, tender, funny, understanding… I so very much missed having all this, and yes, I did miss the sex, too. And that's really… Oh.

I've just been cleaning out all my bags, and I found the one I'd used when I'd visited Yaxley Manor for Christmas. When I shook it to see if anything important was inside, two pieces of paper fell out. The tickets for the "Macbeth"-performance Orion gave me for Christmas; the ones that must have been incredibly expensive. The performance I'd wanted to take Orion to and just never got around to tell him.

I bend down to get them and as if remote-controlled I pick them up and stare at them, for a moment even without actually looking at them. Then I realise that they lost their value because the date where the performance was scheduled for is already over. It had been the day… the day we… Okay, enough is enough. I will _not_ let this stupid prick spoil my day _again_. He chose to make unjustified accusations and do the drama queen act with leaving the flat for good. I don't have anything to regret or blame myself for. With a huff, I tear the tickets in half and throw them into the cold fireplace.

Just when I'm about to continue digging through all the stuff lying on my floor, an owl comes flying through the open window. It's… Pleiade. Bugger. I'm so not on the mood for that bird right now. Can't she just disappear, like her master did? I mean… even if Orion left, his stupid bird obviously thinks she still belongs here, not Yaxley Manor or on whichever one of his vast property he decided to drown himself in work at.

A little exasperated I walk up to the owl stand Pleiade still shares with April and try to tell her that she has to go now, but the owl just looks at me with wise eyes and after my tirade is over she hands me the roll of paper she's been holding all the time. Reluctantly I take it and realise that it's a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. What the…? Usually _April_ is the one picking up my copy of the newspaper, but obviously the owls decided to gang up on me and just switch tasks for a while. Grrr.

But alas, now that it's here I just can read it. I feel like needing a break from cleaning up anyway. Sitting down on my couch, I want to start leafing through, but already a headline on the front page catches my attention.

_**Brothers Cole seen with Argentinian **__**Auror**_

_The disappearance of Daily Prophet reporter Jonathan Peters remains mysterious. New disquieting evidence shows that the fugitive Cole brothers and an Argentinean Auror might be involved._

_Orion Yaxley, Buenos Aires_

_Before his sudden disappearance, Jonathan Peters had been on the trail of the brothers Cerco and Cimico Cole, who had long been rumoured to have fled to Argentina after the defeat of the Death Eaters in England. It has only now become known that Peters had been able to take a picture showing the two fugitives in Buenos Aires the day before he had been reported missing. The infamous Cole brothers had there been exposed dealing with local Mortífagos. It had been this disquieting discovery that might have made Peters a target of the extremists. The Daily Prophet is lucky that its reporter had followed strict protocol and had left an encrypted account of all his research efforts in his hotel room thus enabling its reporters to continue his work._

_The day of his disappearance, Peters was supposed to meet with Mercedés Sanchez-Mueller, who has been the Auror collaborating with British colleagues on the subject of escaped Death Eaters. She has held this office since the Bilateral Collaboration Act against Crime has been signed three years ago. She has thus been in charge of finding the Coles. In her position she had also been in charge of the investigation on Peters' disappearance. In this role, she had searched Peters' hotel room but declared that neither her officers nor she herself had found any evidence on the present case. In particular, they stated to have no knowledge or trace of the above mentioned picture. The room seemed to have been raided by Mortífagos already before the Aurors had arrived._

_This account might not be surprising as the Daily Prophet has been able to take a series of pictures showing Mrs. Sanchez-Mueller secretly meeting with both of the Cole brothers yesterday in Buenos Aires. The pictures not only show their great intimacy but prove that a considerable amount of gold has been exchanged between the two parties. This news is even more explosive in the light of Jonathan Peters' disappearance during or shortly after his meeting with Sanchez-Mueller at the Argentinian Ministry. While his arrival at the Auror Office is generally accounted for, there is some doubt if he ever left it. __It remains to date unclear what role Sanchez-Mueller has played in the disappearance of the Daily Prophet's reporter; however, she will hopefully have some serious questions from her Auror colleagues to answer._

That's… Merlin, I can't believe I never realised that all these sophisticated politics articles had been actually written by _Orion_. Shows I've been seriously neglecting my newspaper reading the past ten years. And the whole Argentina thing… that's creepy. I take a deep breath, because suddenly memories from the war start coming back, and I really don't want that to happen. No need to ruin the day even further. I…

Oh, saved by the bell. Regardless of the half chaos still around me I dash for the door and open it with a flourish. And indeed, it's Boreas standing there. Grinning I nearly jump at him and give him a sound kiss. _Finally_ something to brighten up the day again.

"Vinushka, what did I do to deserve such an… enthusiastic greeting?" he asks me, grinning so adorable that my knees go weak.

"Nothing. Just… being here. And being punctual, of course." He bends down to kiss the crook of my neck. Just as he crosses the threshold to do that, though, I can hear a loud crash from the living room. Merlin! I just _bet_ Pleiade and April have been doing some chasing through the room _again_ – they seem to do this a _lot_ whenever Boreas enters this place – and have… I can deal with that later, more so since Boreas obviously decided to let it slip anyway.

"Of course. Well… how do you want to spend the evening? I hear that there's this fantastic new little restaurant…" A restaurant. Sure. We could do that. It's just that… I feel like I really need a nice quiet evening, after two weeks of being invited to restaurants, parties, cinemas… the truth is: I've never been quite the going-out-type. I was always more of a sitting-in-front-of-the-fireplace-with-a-good-book-type. Those two weeks with Boreas _have_ been fun… but I've actually been looking forward to spend some hours with him, and him alone.

"Oh… you know… I actually thought… we could spend the evening here, at home. I'll light the fireplace, we'll have some tea, you could…" I was about to say "read something to me", but then I remember that _Orion_ had been the last man doing that for me, and that's reason enough I will certainly _not_ do this with _Boreas_. "tell me more about this one adventure in that cave in Romania… how's that?"

At first he seems a little crestfallen, and I'm damn near giving in like I did the last three times he proposed some evening activity when I was actually pretty exhausted from a training session or a tactics briefing, but in the end he concedes and says smiling: "That sounds very nice. Just lead the way, Vinushka."

When we enter the living room, I instantaneously spot the shards of one of my old – and actually quite valuable – vases just beneath the table where I usually keep my mail. Great. And of course there are still bits and pieces from my cleaning up session lying around everywhere. McNeil, you will _never_ become the good little housewitch your friend Artemis has become.

I clear my throat and want to apologize for the apparent chaos, but Boreas just gives me a generous smile and teases: "Looks like the restaurant isn't such a bad idea all of a sudden." I just stick out my tongue at him and wave my wand for the one simple cleaning-up spell I know – my mother was a firm believer in using one's own hands for the mundane act of cleaning up – and after a few minutes the living room looks tolerable again, save for the offending shards that are mysteriously still lying on the floor. What the… I'll take care of that later. As I will take care of the two owls which actually have the guts to sit on their stand and look at me very innocently.

"Still fancy the restaurant more than having a nice little evening with your girlfriend, and your girlfriend alone?" I smirk and earn a kiss from him. Mh… that's nice. And it's also nice to be a girlfriend of someone again.

"Alright, I give in. Now, about this fire and the tea…" and he plops down on the couch. Where the _Prophet_ is still lying around. With Orion's article on the front page. Oh crap. For some strange reason I don't want him to notice what I've been just reading before he rang at my door.

"You'll get it. Just give me that copy of the _Prophet_ to toss it into the fireplace, would you?" I ask as casually as possible. He's about to offer it to me but then something catches his eye. Most probably the biggest headline on the page. Which just happens to be "Brothers Cole seen with Argentinean Auror".

"No, I think I'll have a look at this first…" No, please, don't. I _know_ how you will react once you see who wrote it and then the whole evening will be spoiled because you're just as stupid as he is when it's about this totally unfounded feud between you two.

"Aw, come on, that thing's from last week or something. Really, there's nothing important in it. Nothing's older than yesterday's paper and all that." I'm standing right in front of him now, with the _Prophet_ already in my fingers. He though still doesn't let go.

"Actually, this one's from today, and I _want to read it now_." He's looking directly at me, and there's an edge to his voice I haven't heard ever before. It… makes my skin crawl. Or maybe I'm just imagining that. As much as I'm imagining the strange ice-cold glistening in his eyes, I guess. Trying to cover up the uneasy feeling in my guts I take a deep breath and want to tell him to keep the bloody thing anyway, but suddenly the clouds have vanished and he's cordial, cheerful, loving Boreas again, giving me a smile and saying with a mock grudging voice: "But if you do insist that you need _this_ copy of the _Prophet_ to light a proper fire, who am I to keep it away from you? You _know_ I'd always give you anything you want." Oh, and who can withstand this heart-melting smile and the twinkling eyes, huh?

The queasy feeling finally disappears when I have the _Prophet_ in my hands and can throw it into the fireplace. When I see it going up in flames I'm actually relieved. "Of course I know that. You prove that every day." And he does. Honestly. Boreas is a very attentive and polite lover. I really like that about him.

"Thank you, love." I just give him a slight kiss and want to leave for the kitchen when he suddenly says: "Besides, Yaxley's writing total crap. The Coles have left Argentina about four weeks ago, as far as I know." I blink.

Okay.

Wait.

What the…

You know… I may be blissfully ignorant of practically everything going on around me – including Carrow probably still stalking me and Chiverston still plotting my downfall as a Chaser – but I'm not _dumb_. And something like that catches even _my_ love-muddled and –blinded brain. Something… isn't right here.

Alright.

First rule: Don't panic. Second rule: Do not jump to conclusions hastily. Third rule: Assume that there is a perfectly sensible explanation for everything. In dubio pro reo and all that. Trying to cover up my confusion, suspicion and slight panic I just smile good-naturedly and answer: "Sure, if you say so. Now… I'll get us the tea, huh. I'm already excited to hear more about your adventures." Which is actually true. And they would also make a very good diversion from what just happened, which is just the thing I need right now.

With that I'm finally off to the kitchen, preparing the tea, when I hear a little screech from the living room and then Boreas hollering: "And while we're at it: When are you going to get rid of that hideous Yaxley owl?" Hideous? Why in the world would anyone call good-natured, well-mannered Pleiade _hideous_? Really, this stupid feud thing will have to end if he intends to make this a long-lasting relationship, because taking it out on your rival's _owl_? Not a very mature move.

"When you start to behave like a grown-up, love!" I call back and receive a bellowed laugh. Creepy feeling just a few moments ago? What creepy feeling? I smile to myself, a little disbelieving that I actually found someone to share my life with and… Huh? What's that piece of cloth lying under the kitchen table? A little curious I bend down and pick up the dark green… handkerchief? Well… looks like one of Orions'. How did it get here of all places? And why do I only find this now, two weeks after he moved out?

Still contemplating the Mystery Of The Green Handkerchief while the tea is simmering, something in one of the handkerchief's corners catches my eye. It's… a swan. An intricately embroidered miniature swan, complete with the Yaxley family motto stitched beneath it. So… Orion was right. The swan _is_ his family's heraldic animal. I swallow.

* * *

**A/N: **As always: Thank you for your review, **luna**. We really enjoy and appreciate having at least one regular reviewer :) (though I do think that Lavinia is just a girl in love... and don't we all know how it is when all the world tells us to keep our hands off this one guy because he isn't good for us? Right, we just hold on tighter to him, just _because_ ;)). So, all you others... learn this lesson from luna and be good reviewers as well ;)


	31. Chapter 31

**Thirty-****One**

"_You hide behind hind a mask your face is not your own__  
Of your true side little is seen__  
As time goes by dependence builds up day by day  
Illusion built up out of lies."_

_Nuclear Assault, "Poetic Justice"_

* * *

_Orion: _

It has only been two days since I'm back from Buenos Aires and already I regret not having stayed longer. Escaping the dark and cold British winter for the Argentinean summer had been just what I needed after the turbulent times I have behind me – and ahead of me, still, with all this regrettable divorce business.

But there had been no possibility to stay after my article had been published – it would have been too dangerous considering what had happened to Peters; at least, that's what the Editor-in-Chief - as well as reason - suggested. On the other hand... as dangerous as it had been, I had somewhat missed the excitement. The atmosphere in Argentina's Capital city hadn't just been whirring with heat and noise, it had also been charged with foreboding; like it had been in England just before the war nine years ago. I actually felt something like nostalgia about it.

My stories uncovering Death Eaters have helped me get where I am now – doing the same in Argentina, finally proving my capacities against all doubts would surely secure me the position as Editor-in-Chief and really, why not take the risk? When the divorce is finally through I really won't have many things holding me back in England, except some loose obligations in Norfolk. It gives me some time to prepare my departure, to freshen up my Spanish further for instance and gives me something to look forward to.

I wish I could just go back there now, make myself useful and be where the stories happen – but I'm stuck here, stuck in Britain and stuck in that miserably big house in Norfolk. The boss insisted that I took off at least two days over the weekend before I go back to work – he seemed uncharacteristically worried about my health. I really can't see what he meant – what should I do here with an entire weekend and nothing to do? Maybe I should look for a smaller house or even an apartment in London after I let Bryony stay in the townhouse. It's no solution getting back out here every day, the manor house was already too big for two people, it's worse for one alone.

And where is my mail, anyway? It isn't lying on the desk in my study. I've not taken the study my father used to prefer on purpose, I'll never understand how he was able to work under all the eyes of those portraits of deceased family members - and thinking of _his_ portrait behind me is even worse. The room I have chosen for me is rather smaller, but a lot lighter in its tapestry and furniture and generally more pleasant to be in, even though it is in one of the remote areas of the house facing the park.

"Bongo", I call and the house elf is instantly standing beside me, bowing as usual. "Do you know where my mail is?"

"Bongo doesn't know, master. Bongo is very sorry." He really looks sorry and almost mortified. That's weird, though. Pleiade's stand by the window of the study looks like it hasn't been used for some time.

"Has Pleiade been here the last days?" I ask, already knowing the answer. Where is that stupid bird? She didn't have any problems settling at Lavinia's, why isn't she here? Surely she hasn't been intercepted.

"Bongo has not seen Pleiade, master. Bongo shall look for her", he readily offers.

I wave him off, however. "There won't be any need of it. I'll use one of my parents'."

Now, the elf seems a little offended, but you have to know these creatures well enough to see it. "Bongo is bringing master one", he offers and I accept only to please him. I do not desperately need an owl; I would just have wanted to go through my mail.

I barely turned to the window to look out over the snow covered fields outside when the elf is back already, holding my mother's owl and a stack of papers and magazines that must have been delivered to the wrong room by whatever owl took up Pleiade's job. When I take them, I immediately notice the cover of this week's Witch Weekly. I wish I hadn't...

_**McNeil: Forget Tony, here's Boreas**_

_For five years__, Quidditch International Lavinia McNeil (26) has been mourning her husband, war hero Tony McNeil, now she's eager to let everyone see her new happiness with Russian-born Boreas Roshenkov (26)._

_Lucinda Carrow observing._

_Lavinia McNeil had appeared to be the ever mourning widow for five years, now she can't be too quick to forget her late husband. At the very first date with her new lover Boreas Roshenkov, the Montrose Magpies' chaser had been dining at the "Kingdom and the Cave". Roshenkov, who had found his way back to Great Britain only recently, after having spent quite some time in Argentina, proved to be a very daring lover._

"_They had a special menu ordered by Roshenkov personally"; a waiter at the fancy restaurant exclusively revealed to __us. It contained among others niffler meat – a rare and expensive delicatessen, which just happened to be the late Tony McNeil's favourite animal. There are even stories about how Lavinia née McBean and her lover Tony used to meet at the nifflers' cage at Hogwarts – a fact which didn't seem to bother the widow in any way._

_Maybe it's simply the bad influence she had been under these last months. Falling victim to Orion Yaxley's escapades, she already failed to attend celebration and remembrance at Wizarding D-Day, preferring to spend the day on a date in Muggle London. It must have been then, too, when she had first tasted the all too sweet flavour of publicity. At least, she doesn't seem to get enough of it now._

_Be it fancy restaurants, extensive shopping tours in Diagon Alley, visits to various Muggle entertainments like Cinema or the Zoo – her new lover Boreas Roshenkov is obviously doing everything to please the new queen of his heart. It had hardly been possible to overlook the two lovebirds. This publicity craving is a new trait in McNeil's character, a player who had been known for her quiet and retired lifestyle – and it may pay off for her soon, if persistent rumours about Aidan Fraser's imminent retirement as captain of the Montrose Magpies prove to be true. McNeil is one of the hottest candidates for his succession._

_Meanwhile, voices doubting McNeil's mental health haven't been silenced, yet. "She's obviously distressed", a renowned St. Mungos' healer claims. The same suspicion is alimented by her team mate Helena Chiverston-Althorpe: "I don't know her anymore since she's dating all these guys."_

For some time I'm petrified by this – the pictures, showing Lavinia and Roshenkov in all possible places, cuddling, kissing... being in love – and not to forget everything Carrow writes. It's... outrageous. Roshenkov had been in Argentina before he came here. He had been in Argentina! Of all places! If this isn't evidence! I have to...! I'm almost prepared to storm out of my study already. But, then... if I think about it... Lavinia would surely find a way to explain all this away, too. You just have to look at these pictures to see how obviously blind she is for everything he is.

I'm rather disconcerted that Carrow had the guts to cite me again in this context, though. Honestly, doesn't she have anyone else she can pick on? Hasn't she had enough already, with making me divorce my wife and me taking the blame for it? This makes me remember my research on Carrow that I had put on hold while I had been to Argentina. There had been quite a stack of secret information from the ministry I didn't even leaf through, yet.

Suddenly, I know exactly what to do with my time. First, I'll take Carrow down for good and _then_, I'm going to uncover everything Roshenkov is hiding about Argentina. He won't run away, not while he is enjoying his success with Lavinia. No, there's enough time to expose him, if there's something to be exposed.

_Lavinia:_

Gah. She's gone and done it again. Carrow, I mean. Writing complete nonsense about me and all this stuff about Tony and Boreas and… _why_ did she have to quote _Chiverston_ of all people? That stupid, arrogant, back-stabbing… _bitch_. I _knew_ something was afoot when she started to behave so _nice_ and _sweet_, even _nicer_ and _sweeter_ than on the Press Ball, but how could I have known she'd talked to _Lucinda Carrow_?

Okay, so maybe I _should_ have suspected that because none of them is above this. And both of them seem to have taken a special fancy to me and my love-life. Why, I have no idea. Maybe because they don't have one of their own? Anyway, I don't want to know and I don't care.

The thing… no, actually the _things_ that are really bugging me are that stuff about me being a hot candidate for captaincy – because, great, now everyone will think that's _true_ and that will bring all kinds of problems in the team – and the little aside about Boreas having been in Argentina before coming to Britain – how did she know _that_? I'm torn between wanting to slap her senseless or grilling her with questions about that should we ever meet again. Which I doubt, but one can still hope.

But all of that still doesn't answer all these questions that are flying around in my head ever since Boreas let that thing about the Coles slip. I really tried to tell myself that it was just a fluke, that maybe he didn't know they were Death Eaters or that he'd just heard that through the grapevine… but something in my head that sounded suspiciously like Orion kept nagging me about all the little inconsistencies in the stories he told me. Things like dates and times and places mixed up or illogical twists.

And then there's the thing with the stuff breaking and falling off tables, stands and all that whenever he comes into the apartment; and April and Pleiade who both took a particular dislike to him. Merlin, I wish I was enough in love with him I could just ignore and overlook it but as it is I'm obviously not because I just can't. Maybe I should just try harder. Or maybe I should stop listening to my heart and start listening to my head just for _once_.

Alright. Fine. The head won. Maybe the first time _ever_ that happened, but I just can't forget this creepy feeling I got when I wanted to take the _Prophet_ with Orion's articles from Boreas' hands. Some nights it even haunted me in my sleep, and I just want certainty now. So, taking a deep breath I ignite the fire and establish a connection to a fireplace I haven't called at for… ages. The Flemming's fireplace, to be exact.

Come on, Jake, be at home. Come on… "What the… _Lavinia_! I'd never have recognized you if the wifey wouldn't have let her _Witch Weekly_ copy lying around." Gah! The wifey needs to be seriously punished for even _reading_ this crap. I take another deep breath. Calm now, McNeil, you need his cooperation.

"Yes, and I'm happy to see you, too, Jake." For a moment his face falls, but then the big grin is back. Good old Jake, still not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but always friendly.

"Oh, sorry, maybe that really wasn't the best of all hellos. Anyway… what did I do to deserve a call from you?" Great. Now I feel guilty for calling him only out of very selfish reasons and not because I just want to chat with him. But to be honest: If it hadn't been for this thing with Boreas I maybe would have never called again. Jake… Jake had been the one to tell me about Tony's death.

"I… Actually I'm a bit sorry about this but I need a little information from you. You… don't happen to know which spells exactly Tony placed on the apartment?" Better to be honest right from the start. In cases like this, lying usually doesn't accomplish anything.

He frowns. "Well… why are you asking that? Any of them giving you trouble?" You could say that, yeah. Because, you know, I've got this strange feeling that one of them has a _big_ problem with my lover and is kinda destroying my apartment.

Mh.

Maybe not the best answer of all.

"Something like that, yeah. Feels like it's going a little bonkers after having been in place for quite a time." He nods, now full on the subject. When I said "Not the sharpest knife in the drawer" I never meant he was _stupid_. Just a little slow sometimes. And he _was_ a good Auror and a successful and loyal Order member. Tony's best friend. His best man at our wedding.

Okay. I should really keep my mind on the task now.

"What does it do?" Well… yes, what does it do? How to describe this without actually mentioning Boreas might be connected to it?

"It's… The last few weeks stuff suddenly kept falling down or breaking up and all that, without me ever touching it. No idea what might have triggered it but it's really starting to freak me out. I tried ghost detection spells, but nothing happened. So I figured it must be one of the spells Tony placed." I add a shrug for good measure and hope he doesn't see through my little act. And anyway, I didn't exactly _lie_ to him. I just… omitted some of the truth. That's something totally different.

He looks thoughtful for a while and takes his time with answering. Then: "And you're sure it's happening without any reason?" I nod. Okay… maybe this was a little lying. _But_ if it hadn't been for that stupid comment about the Coles I would have never suspected it to be connected with Boreas in any aspect. "Well… could only be that really special spell that can detect users of dark magic even if they don't have the Dark Mark. Took us _ages_ to install that one, because that's really _big_ magic. But… that would still need a reason to fire up. Like a dark wizard walking into your apartment or something. You haven't let in any dark wizards lately, have you?" He grins, and I realise he means this as a joke, but right now I can't really appreciate it.

Users of dark magic. Even without the Dark Mark. Users… of dark… magic. The Coles. Argentina. Baked niffler breast and roasted swan. Green embroidered handkerchiefs… Right now this is all a little too much for me. I take a really deep breath. "No… no, of course not. That's not really the kind of company I keep. Anyway… thanks for the information. I'm… I'm sure it'll stop acting wonky in a few days. I… gotta go now. Sorry for that, but I really…"

"Lavinia? Everything okay?" I just nod and thank him again for the information. Then his wife calls and we say our good-byes. I promise to call more often, and he promises to give me a call once in a while as well, but we both know it's very likely we'll never stick to that. There'd just been too many things happening in-between. Me letting a potential unmarked Death Eater into the apartment I shared with Tony and Orion – both passionate Death Eater haters, even if not out of the same motifs – for example. I… have to sit down now.

From the corner, a low coo can be heard and I turn around to look at the owls. That's not really a smirk I just saw on Pleiade's face, right? Because, really, owls can't smirk, and if I start imagining that something in my head is _seriously_ wrong. But hey… I'm the Auror widow with the potential Death Eater lover. It's not like that this is a sign for sanity either. More like a sign for _immense_ stupidity.

Merlin… Orion… Orion _knew_ about this. I've been such a _goose_. I'd never live through meeting him again. Not like that there are many chances for that happening, but you never know. So maybe I'll just… no, wait. This is really not the time to ponder what I'll do when… _if_ I'll ever meet Orion again. Actually I need a plan for when I'll meet _Boreas_ again. Because, seriously… news like this work like a bucket of ice water on the hot flames of young passion and suddenly… suddenly I'm very afraid of Boreas, because this whole new information means that I didn't imagine this creepy look in his eyes at the incident with the _Prophet_. It had been _there_ and it had been _real_. With a start I get up, because I finally know what to do. I think… I think a call at the Ministry would be in order now.

* * *

**A/N: **Whee, Lavinia found her brain again! Ahem. Okay... err... what did I want to say? Oh yes, **luna**, we miss you :( Please come back! You're allowed to do a lot of Boreas-bashing! :D

Anyway, a few weeks ago I watched the video for "Carry you home" by James Blunt for the first time, and ever since that the story about how Jake told Lavinia about Tony's death is lying around on my hard drive. In the end I decided to post it here as a kind of vignette (and decided to change the song, but that's a completely different story). If you're interested, have a look at "Super girls don't cry".


	32. Chapter 32

**Thirty-Two**

"_Baby shame on you if you fool me once__  
Shame on me if you fool me twice  
__You've been a pretty hard case to crack  
Should've known better but I didn't  
And I can't go back."_

_Leann Rimes, "Live goes on"_

* * *

_Lavinia_:

"Hello, Vinushka." He smiles like I was the only thing to brighten up his days, but instead of making my knees go soft like it used to be it makes me slightly sick. It's pretty hard not to recoil in disgust as he bends down to kiss me as well, now that I'm sure about what he really is.

"Hello, Boreas. How was your day?" A grimace contorts his face for a moment.

"Boring. And unpleasant. But now that I'm here…" His face lights up again. "You always save my day, Vinushka." It becomes increasingly hard to keep up the loving-girlfriend-façade.

"Glad to hear that. Now, why don't you sit down and let me get you some tea?" And in the process inform the Aurors that they can bring in the big guns while I'm at it. Boreas just sits down and gives me a benevolent smile. Yeah, that's right, you big Russian bear. Let the female do all the work for you. That's the way you like it, huh?

When I'm in the kitchen, I quickly open the window and wave for April to sit down on the window-sill. Quickly, I scribble a message for the Aurors waiting a few blocks away on a piece of parchment and send April away. Taking a deep breath, I take the tea and walk back into the living room. Now, keep the Death Eater busy, Lavinia.

"So… what did you do today?" I place the tea cup in front of him, like a good little pureblood housewife. He takes it, grinning at me. Sheesh, does this guy have any other facial expressions?

"Thinking about you." Blergh. Not true. More possible you were planning on how to get those Death Eater friends of your's back from South America to the UK.

Trying to maintain my cheerful front I sit down beside him and lean back against his arm draped over the back rest. "Thinking about me, uh-huh. And which conclusions did you reach?"

Now a self-satisfied grin is plastered all over his face. "That I love and adore you," Bah. Blergh. Urgh, "even though you are a little traitor." Wha…? For a moment my brain is totally empty and my stomach is filled with dread. Then my survival instinct finally kicks in.

"What are you talking about?" I even manage to sound righteously chuffed and have an innocent shocked look on my face.

"My dear Lavinia…" Oh, so no Vinushka anymore? "you know perfectly well what I'm talking about." There's a sneer on his face now. So Boreas Roshenkov _does_ know other facial expressions than goofy smiles. Can't say I particularly like them, though.

"No, really, why should I be a traitor?" Come on, play the innocent dumb little Hufflepuff a while longer. Just until the Aurors arrive here.

"Oh, I have no idea why you would betray _me_ to the authorities. Haven't I always loved you? I practically worshipped the ground you walk on. And this is how you thank me?" All I want to do now is tell him in no uncertain terms what exactly I think of guys who are responsible for the death of hundreds. But still no sign of the Aurors.

"Boreas, love, I have no idea what you want from me. Of course I know that you love me. I love you, too." Lie. Big fat ugly lie. And where are these bloody Aurors?

"I don't doubt that, darling. But I know that your nature as a half-blood sometimes confuses you… My heart, I will still love you. But I might have to do some very ugly things now because of your folly." How _dare_ you speak to me like I was a dim-wit? And _how_ dare you connect that to my blood-status? _Orion_ never… Orion. Better not think about him. I really need to concentrate right now.

I take a deep breath. Have to get away from him. Right now. "I… I am deeply offended how you could _ever_ think I would do something to harm you. I think I need…" With that I get up with all the dignity of wounded pride I can muster up. "I think I need some time for myself now. Please… please leave now."

Walking backwards towards the window, I try to bring as much distance as possible between us. Boreas gets up now as well and his usual Quidditch player grace suddenly has something intimidating and menacing. "And walk right into the arms of the Aurors waiting outside? I don't think so. But I _do_ think you need to be put in your place, love." He has his wand in his hand now. Where's mine? Where is my bloody stupid _wand_? "Don't worry, love. No one will hear anything. I took care of that."

"Darling, think again. How could _I_ tell the Aurors anything? And _why_ should I do that?" Wand. Wand, wand, wand. Ah, there. On the little table at the window… Slowly I edge towards it.

He raises his wand. "I'm sorry, Lavinia. I have to punish you for your insolence. But rest assured it will hurt me as much as you. And I'm sure that you will need only one session to learn." Have wand now. "Remember, Lavinia, I'm very, very sorry. _Cru_…"

"_Expelliarmus!_" I'm surprised at myself. I actually managed to disarm him. For a moment we're both dumbstruck but then he scrambles towards his wand, his face contorted by rage. My reflexes kick in. "_Petrificus Totalus_!" But the spell misses and cracks a part of my living room's door. Oh bugger. Oh bloody bugger.

_Orion:_

"Is this seat taken?" Without waiting for an answer, I sit down and look at Lucinda Carrow again, who's sitting at the table. She seems to be a little taken by surprise. Good. Everything is going according to plan. Just when she opens her mouth to speak, I stop her. "Would you mind dropping by my office?"

I put my hands innocently on the back of hers. She's obviously confused. Oh yes, revenge is sweet, my dear. I even risk a deep look into her eyes and get up again. "I have some matters to discuss with you." I add casually. With that, I'm leaving the cafeteria and hurry to my office, as soon as I'm out of her sight.

I'm sure she will show up here soon... curiosity can be dangerous. "Bongo", my house-elf appears with a crack. "Ready?" The elf nods, snaps his fingers and hides under my desk as planned. I sit down and wait for the door to open. I know she won't come here directly, she's not someone who's showing her interest – but she will eventually turn up. I'm sure she would want to tell me she was "just in the neighbourhood". Too bad for her.

The information I have collected on her is almost solid proofed. It had only taken me a week-end to riddle it all out after I had finished researching. It's just one final test – one she will provide me any minute. There goes the door.

"Yax-" Carrow begins but stops abruptly.

There is a flash of purple light and she's standing motionless in front of me. I can barely hide my satisfaction. Carrow on the other hand has only a brief moment of horror in her face, then, she obviously tries to free herself, but all she's able to move are her eyes. Oh, and her lips, too, because she's found her voice again. "What are you playing at, Yaxley? Lost your mind when Bryony-"

"Silence!" I command and get up from my chair. "You're in no position to insult me, Carrow. Keep your tongue. Everything you're saying possibly works against you, Lucinda. Or should I say Jessica?" Her eyes widen in shock, if only for a split second, and then she's looking neutral again. Being a good actor obviously is part of the game, but you're not going to fool me, Miss...

"I have no idea what you are talking about! Let me go or you'll regret it!"

"Shhhh! What did I just tell you?" I see her getting doubts. You should have them... I walk around my desk and casually lean against it, arms folded in front of my chest. "I set up a special protecting charm around the walls of this office", I start explaining. "It freezes everyone who's been branded with the Dark Mark." She's not hiding her shock anymore. "If I would be as tactless as you yourself, I could roll up your sleeve and it would show clearly. However, we can leave that to later."

It's fascinating, observing someone who's unable to move any part of the body but her face getting utterly shocked and angry in the same time. I'm not waiting for her to talk, though. This is me winning!

"You should have known that an investigative journalist like me wouldn't sit and wait after the campaign you've recently been leading against me. And you should have feared it more", I can't suppress a smug smile on my face. "I've done my work. I know a lot about you. The Dark Mark is only the last, solid proof of what I've been suspecting for weeks. You haven't been working in France during the war. You have been "working" right here, in Britain. And if my sources are true, you've been right in the inner circle of the Death Eaters."

As I suspected, she is only glaring at me – and she's turning increasingly white in her face. That's a sight to see!

"If you would have done your research right..." she's starting to say, but I end the sentence for her.

"... I would have found out that you have left them before the end of the war. Indeed, I know. And I also know that the ministry is protecting that truth."

"It doesn't! They don't know!" she's crying, but I shake my head.

"I would have thought you less naive, Lucinda. Do you really think you would have been able to get back into the magical society without anyone finding out about your past, just like that, without protection?"

She's staring at me in disbelief.

"They know you have anonymously turned in many of your ex-companions and they are reciprocating. I'm stunned how radically your beliefs have changed... living under your birth name among Muggles and everything... Why would that be? Frankly, I'm still curious. Maybe you can enlighten me on that before I publish..."

"You can't!" look who's sounding desperate all of a sudden.

"And why couldn't I?" I'm getting up from my leaning against the desk and look her up expectantly. "You tried to ruin almost every aspect of my life these past weeks, you have more than proven that while your ideals and your methods may have changed, you're still doing the same as before; destroying people's lives. Why shouldn't I owe the public the truth about you?"

"You said it yourself!" That's something. Lucinda Carrow getting desperate. "The ministry..."

Again, I finish the sentence for her. "Wouldn't want the public to know it has been protecting you... thus it would gladly reserve a cell for you in Azkaban."

A flash of naked, utter panic runs over her face.

"NO! Please! Please! Not Azkaban!"

Look at this. I would never in my wildest dreams have expected her to actually _beg_.

"Blame yourself, not me." I answer coldly, but she's continuing.

"Please! Rather..." it's panic speaking out of her. "Rather kill me!"

I shake my head. "I'm not like you, Carrow. I have my principles."

After panic comes desperation and delusional hope: "What has been your involvement with Death Eaters, Yaxley?" she's crying.

I'm confused, but hopefully not showing it. What involvement? I have never even been close to sympathising with that organisation. She must be trying to bluff.

Seeing or guessing my confusion, she's going on that line: "How else would you be able to place a spell on those walls, detecting Dark Marks, if you don't know how to activate them?"

I smile and take my time to answer. "The thing about you Death Eaters-"

"Ex-Death Eater", she's correcting.

"Is that you underestimate the magical power of those creatures that aren't witches or wizards..." I'm profiting of every bit of my obvious superior knowledge in the matter. "House-elves are able to put almost any spell on a house, dwelling or workplace, if only their masters are clever enough to command them to do so. My faithful house-elf has done this, and he's the only one able to free you of this position... if I command him to."

"Then do it!" she's hissing.

I laugh out loud. It's not my way to react to such situations... but what she's trying to do here is almost comical. "No, not yet", I say. "We have to decide whether I'm going to publish or not", I continue explaining and almost hear her breath out in relieve.

"So..." I've never heard you so awkward, Miss Carrow, "there is a chance you're not going to?"

I let her suffer a bit more. Hope is treacherous... but so human. "Maybe", I finally say. "Even though you clearly don't deserve it." I pause, watching her relax. "You yourself wouldn't have had any pity if you were in my position. You have already proven that." I can feel her insecurity despite her efforts to hide it. "I could keep your secret..." I look at her directly. "But it comes at a price." I smile. She doesn't.

"Name it", she's replying coldly.

It's incredible how fast that woman is able to get back into her usual distanced and seemingly emotionless countenance. It's quite scary. But she's nervous under it, I know it.

"First", I start, clearing my throat merely for the effect. "You're not going to write or publish any stories about me and the people I care about, except those texts I personally approve."

"Easy", she replies and I'm not sure if she's aware of the difficulties of that task. People will want to get more dirty laundry washed in public on my back and she'll have to find a proper excuse why she's leaving me alone.

"We'll clear the details afterwards", I assure her and go on.

"Secondly, you'll give me your full and true story. I have found out some things, but some are still pretty mysterious, like, why you're officially bearing a pureblood's name, when your birth name is a Muggle one or how you managed to leave the Death Eaters without being detected. I'll have full publication rights on everything – of course made anonymous – and you'll be ready as an expert consultant whenever I need inside information on Death Eater practices."

I hear her gulp. "Alright. If you guarantee nobody..."

I roll my eyes. "Of course I do. That's the whole point of the deal."

After another pause, I name the last condition: "Finally, you're going to be careful. I don't tolerate you causing me trouble in any way. Don't try to evade those terms in _any_ way or I do publish."

Another gulp on her part, then she awkwardly complies. "I agree to these terms."

"And I", my voice gets solemn, "give you my word that I'm keeping your secret." That's done.

But Carrow obviously isn't happy: "Now, would you please let me move again?"

I hesitate. This is the one weak point in my plan – Carrow is inscrutable, she's safe as long as she's bound by the spell, but she's dangerous walking around.

"Soon", I say. "I just want to let you know that trying to worm out of our little agreement for example by illegally modifying my memory" – I'm surprised that Carrow actually reacts a little shocked when I mention it. Modifying the memory had been so vastly abused during the war that its use has become completely illegal for any private person, but I would have thought Carrow to be one of those opposed to this law – "hurting me or killing me."

"I don't kill anymore, Yaxley!" She exclaims, sounding almost desperate. How that sounds... she doesn't kill _anymore_... but she used to. The woman in front of me is in all probability a mass murderer and I... what am I doing here? There's no turning back.

"I don't trust you", I answer. "That's why I've assured myself in more than one way that you wouldn't have any chance getting away with it. Not only would the ministry not protect you any longer if something mysterious happened to me... I've also made sure that all the documentation I have collected on you would pass to people I trust who would expose you instead." She's not looking happy.

"I get it. Just for the record..."

I interrupt her again. "You're not going to... I knew you'd say that. But one can never be sure enough." I pause yet again, take a deep breath and go back to my chair. "I'm going to unfreeze you now. But you're staying here in this room until I give you my leave. Understood?"

She's rolling her eyes. "Yes."

With that, I gesture Bongo to leave his hiding place under the desk and command him to lift the protection. With another flash of purple light, Carrow is free to move again. She's flexing her limbs, but she's not herself again, yet.

"Sit down", I command her and to my astonishment, she follows it without comment. "Let's work out the details of our contract, shall we?" It's a lot easier, just pretending to form a simple business agreement, rather than thinking about helping in protecting a former Death Eater – even a reformed one.

She nods.

"Let's see", I take up a piece of parchment and a quill and hand them over to her. "These are the people you're not allowed to publish on without my explicit consent – on the final written text, mind. I'm not accepting only roughly pitched stories and I'm allowed to change my mind about publication at any point of the process. You better write the names down."

She's already rolling her eyes. Fine, if she thinks she can keep them in mind.

"First of all, me and my entire family... well, except those associated with my uncle Corvus Yaxley... all those who have been on your side."

She's protesting again, when I associate her with the Death Eaters.

"Anyway, no stories about any Yaxley, alive or dead. Oh, even though we're getting divorced, this includes Bryony, too. I wouldn't want myself to get into the crossfire indirectly."

Carrow is rolling her eyes again. "Yaxley", she's telling me, "would you please stop being so paranoid."

I roll my eyes, too. "As a matter of fact..."

"Yes, I know, you don't trust me. Now, go on with your list."

I take a deep breath and continue. "Then, there are my co-workers and collaborators – in particular those of my department." Carrow only nods.

Now, we've reached the point where _I_ get insecure. After everything that had happened during the last few weeks, after she had been so blind for Boreas and didn't want to listen to me, I had almost been inclined _not_ to include her. But as I said... hope is a treacherous thing. "You're not going to write about my friends either; Lavinia McNeil in particular. She's an absolute no-go for you." There, it's out.

Lucinda gasps. "Lavinia McNeil! I knew it! You're totally into her!"

"Carrow..." I'm very serious and very annoyed, "this is none of your business. All you have to know is that she's out of bounds for your articles."

But Lucinda can't leave it to that. "If I can help you..." she's eagerly sitting up.

I appease her. "I don't value your opinion, Carrow."

She's not moving an inch, obviously quickly thinking something over. "Oh, you will..." she's saying. I doubt it. "As an expert consultant on Death Eaters", why must she twist my words like that! What have I landed myself in this time? "I must warn you..."

I stop her and roll my eyes. "What? That she's a Death Eater?" Ridiculous.

"No, that her boyfriend is one. Boreas Roshenkov. I could never turn him in because he hasn't got the Mark and has been very careful to stay on the margins. But he's still in and currently working hard to get them back here from South America. Why else do you think did I write this last story about him? He's been very angry. I just don't get why he's after you and your girl, too."

I'm not even protesting against the "your girl" part. "When were you going to tell me? That's horrible! We've got to talk about the rest later. I have to warn her right away!" I get up with a start and Carrow is watching me amused.

"Not your girl... no, not at all."

I half register that she must be really annoyed that she can't make a story out of it, but all I'm thinking about is that I should get to Lavinia as fast as possible. I knew there was something fishy about him! I knew he was not to be trusted! And all the talk about him having been to Argentina before... even Carrow tried to warn people... I would never have thought that she'd follow other objectives with her articles than destroying people's lives. Why didn't I do my research on Boreas first? He could already be behind bars as we speak.

When I hurry out of my office, I almost bump into one of my co-workers. "Yaxley! I've been looking for you! There's a big story coming in for tomorrow! Aurors just went to the place of that Quidditch-player, McNeil or something. She's been menaced by a Death Eater!"

* * *

**A/N:** Yay, cliffy! And yay, a new chapter after all... seems we kinda lost track of when to up-date again, but we promise not to let this happen again. And of course we hope you stayed with us even through the hiatus. As for our last reviewer, **Carlin**, we hope that you passed your finals and still like the story, now with Boreas turning out to be... not really nice. :)


	33. Chapter 33

**Thirty-Three**

"_No more pain  
No more game  
No more games messing with my mind."_

_Mary J. Blige, "No more drama"_

* * *

_Lavinia:_

Bugger.

Buggerbuggerbugger.

Why did that stupid spell miss? Why couldn't it just hit Boreas so I could get this over with? Oh yeah. _Maybe_ because I'm just a Quidditch player, not a battle-hardened Auror. Fuck it, I just should have gone with the Auror's plan to transfigure one of them into some item for my flat and just re-transfigure him when things started getting hot. Never mind that Boreas would have probably seen through that – obviously there _had_ been a leak somewhere, because he never could have known about the trap otherwise – at least someone with a little combat experience would have been here.

Boreas, though, throws himself on his wand and grabs it with frantic haste with a triumphant cry. "I loved you, Lavinia! I said I would take care of you! I would have handed you the world on a silver platter!" Merlin, this guy is totally… _bonkers_. He's up again, raising his wand and… "How could you do this to me? We can still make it through! But you have to let me punish y…"

Oh God, I so need to do something, and _fast_, because this is really starting to get out of hand here. So I try another spell.

"_Stupefy_!"

This time, the spell hits him squarely in the chest. His features freeze immediately and he tips over with a thud. For a moment, I'm shocked at my own luck. My breath is heaving and after a moment of total silence there's only one thing that comes to my mind through the fog of shock: "You always talked too much, Roshenkov."

Then I remember that he won't stay like this forever and I scramble to the door to open it. Just as I'm about to have a look into the hall, a horde of Aurors comes charging towards me and I just open the door a little wider, calling "In the living room!" after them. Shortly before I close the door, I see another person coming up the steps. Orion. Oh.

When he sees me he looks a little surprised. "Lavinia… are you alright?" Well, no. I'm inside the apartment lying on the floor in a bloody heap, don't you see?

Okay. Maybe not the right thing to say. He looks honestly concerned, and I think I owe him manners. "Yes… I'm… okay. Mostly, I think."

Relief is clearly showing on his face now. "Merlin, I was worried! I've just got confirmed that he's a Death Eater and when I wanted to come and warn you, I heard that the Aurors are already at it... you sure it's alright? Do you want to go for a walk or something? I'm sure they don't need you here for another hour at least." Ah. Okay. So he was sure I wouldn't be able to solve the problem on my own. What is it with men and thinking I can't take care of myself?

"I'm okay, Orion. I took care of it all. The Aurors are just here to arrest him. But thank you for your concern." Mh. Obviously not the answer he'd anticipated. Sure looks a little crestfallen now.

Ever the dignified British pure-blood though, he tries to pull himself together and pats my shoulder with the words "Thankfully you did... I'm... relieved it's all over." Errr… does this remind anyone apart from me of the dreadfully embarrassing "You fight good."-scene at the end of "Mulan"?

But when I look into his eyes, I can not only see relief there but also a little… disappointment. And finally I get it. The poor guy had hoped to come here and be the knight in shining armour. My mind obviously found it _that_ difficult wrap itself around the concept that _Orion_ of all people would someday come charging heroically to _my_ doorstep that it took me a while to realise it.

"I'm relieved, too. Orion. Listen…" Before I can finish my sentence, I find myself encased in a hug. A little flabbergasted I reach up and return the hug timidly. What… is that about? I mean… we parted on… _horrible_ terms, and it was my damn fault for not listening to him _again_ and suddenly he's here and instead of reproaching me and being his usual unnerving aloof self he's awkward and hugging me – the one time when he has _every_ right to be aloof and unnerving? "Orion… everything okay?"

"Yes, yes... you're safe now. Just... don't get yourself in such trouble again." Phew, and here I was getting concerned that someone had given him a mind warp. Although that "You are safe"-comment makes me wonder… He lets go of me again, and I find myself wishing he didn't. No, better crush that thought. Maybe he's getting a divorce but it wouldn't work anyway. And… remember what happened to the last guy you went out with.

I give him a smile that looks more confident than I feel right now. "Of course. I won't."

He smiles back, still a little awkward. "I could stay with you for a while, if you need anything..." I hug myself, looking through the open door. I guess he means it. He really wants to stay. Why, I have no idea. I mean… he must think me pretty stupid, to fall for a bloody _Death Eater_. Me, widow of a war hero of all people. And I could have seen that so much earlier. Besides… I'm kind of… I don't know. I haven't had the luckiest of hands with guys lately, and I feel a major breakdown already coming. I realise that this is not how I want Orion to see me.

"Actually… don't feel offended, please, but I think I need some time alone."

He wants to answer something, but is interrupted by the Aurors walking out, dragging a still Stupefyed Boreas with them. Good. I don't know if I could have dealt with a snarling and spitting Boreas now.

When the Aurors are gone, I look back at Orion, expect him to try and ask me if he should stay with me again, but all that comes is just a "Goodbye, Lavinia.", but apparently I now know him well enough to detect a very fine undertone of disappointment in his voice. Or maybe it's just the shock playing tricks on my mind.

Unable to say anything more I just nod and make my way back into my apartment, quietly shutting the door behind me. Feeling a little like being remote-controlled I stroll into the living room. The two owls have reclaimed their owl stand and are both looking at me, strangely seeming to expect something from me. Probably imagining that, _too_.

With a small sigh I sit down on the sofa. Suddenly I feel just drained and exhausted. Several months worth of trouble seem to come back with a vengeance and I bury my face in my hands, trying to shut out all the pictures and the feelings… all the embarrassment and the guilt and the anger…

Trying to pull myself together I force myself to put away the hands, take a deep breath and have a look around to assess the damage and clean it up. But then… my gaze falls on the crack in the door frame my misfired _Petrificus Totalus_ has left behind and… I realise I could be dead now. As if that somehow flipped a switch inside me I feel tears running down my face and sobs starting to shake me. One after another… Until I'm sitting curled up on my couch desperately struggling to keep myself from crying which just won't work. And the very small rational part of my mind that is still working tells me it won't stop for quite some time. Because when Tony had died and Jake, who'd come to me to tell me, had been gone it had happened exactly the same way.

_Orion:_

When I get back to my office I'm astonished that Carrow is still sitting here, almost as if she hadn't moved at all. I'm already suspecting that Bongo might have taken his job a bit too serious and activated the protection again, but when I talk to her, she's turning her head in my direction. "What are you still doing here?"

She shrugs. "You have made yourself quite clear that I'm not to leave your office until - I quote - I have your leave. You've left the office in such a hurry you couldn't give me instructions..." there's a hideous smile on her face. Oh, if she's trying to get to me that way... I have to disappoint her. I'm patient.

"Right, you have it, now. I've got to work, but if you're so eager to please, come back as soon as I memo you", I say, sitting down on my desk and watching her leave my office in no hurry. She won't do any harm while she's away, I hope. My list isn't complete, yet and she could try... but I relax. My last condition has kept me open a way to end this situation whenever I feel she's not keeping her side of the deal. I'm positive that I have impressed on her enough for the moment.

It's not my major problem anyway. I sigh and pull out some paper. I'm not in the mood for writing, at least not about what had just happened. Why didn't Lavinia want me to stay? I only moved out of her place because of the whole Boreas-thing, there's no reason to stay away now. And isn't it part of the deal to be friends to actually be there when something happens? I expected her to be grateful for my being there... why doesn't she want my help?

Maybe she's mad at me for not fighting Boreas? I shouldn't have left the apartment just because she wouldn't listen to me – it is technically my fault that she had been alone with a Death Eater. A Death Eater! If I had known how dangerous he really was, I would have insisted more.

But she's alright; she hasn't been hurt, thankfully. So... it had made no difference after all. I should be happy about that. Only... I'm not. I...

The piece of parchment in front of me is still blank. Focus, I have to focus! Maybe Lavinia didn't want me to stay because she listened to my advice and decided to leave _all_ the past behind her and I'm definitely part of _that_. I hadn't meant it like that. I'd never have encouraged her if I had known where it would lead...

From whatever point I look at it, it's all wrong. My idea had been to first fix the problems caused by Carrow, then find the dirty secrets of Boreas and then get Lavinia back into my life. All I've done is fixing the Carrow-problem and it doesn't really give me as much satisfaction as it should. The Boreas drama somehow unfolded itself without my help and Lavinia is farther away from me than ever before.

I'm almost convinced that this time I have lost her forever. It isn't exactly helpful that I should write an article about the dramatic events at our... _her_ apartment. I'm staring into space for some time and finally sit up. "Get a grip. Get a bloody grip", I tell myself and suddenly decide that I could first start asking Carrow exactly _what_ she knows about Roshenkov's involvement with the Death Eaters. I have to profit of her knowledge, after all, if I'm already protecting her anyway.

I haven't sent the memo five minutes when she enters the room. That was fast. I hadn't known that she could be so obliging. It's almost scary. I indicate her to sit down. She has an over-zealous smile on her face. Is she trying to annoy me?

"I need some information from you for my article", I tell her. She's still grinning. I wonder how long she will be able to keep up that act.

"Sure", she's answering, carelessly crossing her legs. "I have to warn you, though. I only know things until I_ left _them" – she puts a lot of emphasis on the word – "six years ago."

Wait a minute... I frown. "How did you know that Roshenkov had been to Argentina, then?"

Carrow leans back relaxed in her chair. "He told her at the restaurant."

What? He actually told Lavinia he had been to Argentina? What has he done to her that she didn't notice anything? "And why do you know that?" I continue.

For the first time since my return to the office, Carrow actually lets her annoyance shine through: "Merlin! I thought you were a journalist. I talked to the waiter, of course."

"Of course", I roll my eyes. "Since when have you known that he is a Death Eater?"

Is it just me or did she actually flinch a little, just for a split second, when I mention the word? If she did, she's not showing anything the next moment – she rather appears perfectly relaxed again. "Since ever?" she answers.

"Has he been a Death Eater" – there, again, only a tiny little split second – "when we were at School, then?" I continue.

Carrow shrugs. "Maybe."

Oh my... this is going to be unnerving... but I'll get her to talk, we've got a deal. "You just told me you have always known..."

"School was before...", she's replying, apparently absolutely determined to evade the subject.

"Before what?"

"You know", again, she has a hard time hiding her annoyance.

"No?" Of course I know, but if she is to tell me her entire story, she can't avoid the subject forever.

There's no answer at first. I actually imagine seeing her shift a little uneasy on her chair. What? Did she think talking about that pitch black past of hers would be easy? "Before..." she starts and you almost can't hear the end of the sentence "I joined them."

At least she seems to be ashamed of her past herself. It won't do for me, however. "You haven't joined the Death Eaters before the end of School? But Roshenkov might have?"

"I told you, I don't know." This is going to be very hard.

"Listen _Lucinda_", I'm looking into her eyes as determined as I can. "We have an agreement; you owe me your story. I'm not going to worm everything out of you. What do you know about Boreas Roshenkov's involvement with the Death Eaters?"

* * *

**A/N: **Aaand... we're back! Finally the resolve for the cliffy. Sorry for letting you wait, but both of us were kind of... erm... occupied. We try not to let this happen again!

Anyway: Thank you for your reviews, **Carlin** and **Luna**! We congratulate Carlin on her finals that went well and wish her every luck for the midterms! And we congratulate Luna for seeing the evil in Boreas right from the start :D BTW, Lucinda's surname was indeed chosen for a reason (but before The Book That Doesn't Exist In Our World, apparently) ;)


	34. Chapter 34

**Thirty-Four**

"_He broke your heart  
He took your soul  
You're hurt inside_  
'_Cause there's a hole  
You need some time  
to be alone  
then you will find  
what you've always known."_

_Lenny Kravitz, "I'll be waiting"_

* * *

_Orion:_

_**Roshenkov**__** trials start today **_

_A week after his spectacular arrest, Death Eater Boreas Roshenkov is facing the Wizengamot today. Charges are among others murder, assistance to homicide, repeated use of unforgivable curses and membership in a terrorist association. But his most recent doings are still more disquieting._

_Orion Yaxley, London_

_Since the end of the war there hadn't been such a big catch by British Aurors: Russian-born Boreas Roshenkov, who had spent part of his education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been working for the Death Eaters for at least ten years. While he hasn't been branded with the Dark Mark and had been unknown to most insiders the damage he has caused is considerable. "He has been directly or indirectly involved in several of the major attacks in the war", Chief Mugwug Rushworth told the press._

_Roshenkovs part in the crimes of the Death Eaters during the war will make the most important part of today's hearing (see Daily Prophet yesterday), his recent doings however are more unsettling. Boreas Roshenkov had returned to Britain from Argentina in the end of last year to prepare the terrain for better known members of the Death Eaters. Quidditch player Lavinia McNeil, who had uncovered his activity and alerted the Aurors after having been menaced by him, already accounted to the Gamot that Roshenkov had mentioned the infamous brothers Cole to her, suggesting that he was well informed on their whereabouts._

_This sheds a new light on the ongoing crisis in Argentina. "We have always feared that they are ultimately aiming Britain again", Department of International Magical Cooperation spokesperson Evangeline Parker stated. This plan hopefully got a severe backdrop by Roshenkov's arrest. "He was to re-introduce himself to British society and test the reception of a return of his partners in crime", Chief Mugwug Rushworth confirmed. "It can't be excluded, yet, that he had made use of the Imperius-curse in the process." _

"I call the witness Lavinia McNeil."

I almost startle at these words. The trial has been going on for two days already, with statement after statement and I started to find it difficult to concentrate, as I had had most of the information already beforehand by one source or the other, officially and not. But now, I'm suddenly wide awake. Lucinda Carrow is sitting next to me in the press stand, cool and inscrutable as ever – as an uninformed person you would never have guessed that she had been involved personally in many of the crimes that were depicted in the last hours. Oddly enough, _she_ seems more awake at the name "Lavinia" as well. I hope she remembers that she's not allowed to write anything negative about her...

The doors of the courtroom open and I turn my head to them, suddenly feeling nervous. It'll be the first time I see Lavinia since I left her in front of her apartment. She looks perfectly composed while she's walking towards the witness stand, wearing witches' robes for once. It makes her appearance strange, almost detached from the casual person I had lived with. Only at second glance I realise that she's looking tired under the make-up.

The courtroom has gone dead silent at her entry. Every head is turned to her. If it feels as dreadful for her as I imagine it to be, she doesn't show it. She is the widow of a war hero who had unknowingly started a relationship with a Death Eater, she has been the one to uncover the truth, to alert the Aurors, has almost become a victim of him herself... everyone in the room is aware of this. Even without smug articles from Carrow and with me covering the subject as cautiously as I could, her situation had been discussed throughout the country, virtually in every household.

She sits down and looks about the room. I can't decide whether it's a defiant kind of pride and dignity that makes her appear so collected and determined, or only survival instincts. Other people would have appeared emotional or broken after such an event, but in Lavinia you can see neither. I catch myself wondering how she really feels at the moment.

My gaze wanders to the other side of the room to Roshenkov and I involuntarily shiver. I have had difficulties seeing him again already since the beginning of the process but now he's looking downright creepy. His eyes are intensely fixed on Lavinia, the expression on his face unreadable and far from the goofy smile he had displayed when I had last seen him in Lavinia's company. I'm happy that he is safely tied to the chair and heavily guarded by Aurors at the moment.

The Chief Mugwug is addressing Lavinia now. She's answering all the questions of the court in a surprisingly calm, but also surprisingly unemotional way. When did she first meet the suspect? How long did she know him? What did she know about his activities... these kinds of questions, all obviously prepared, all answered minutely.

It's Roshenkov who isn't calm and composed in the procedure. He's still staring at her, fixing her with her gaze, reacting to every word she says, until, when she tells the court how she had started suspecting him, he loses countenance altogether: "I loved you, you ungrateful bitch!" he screams. There's no doubt that he would have jumped up or possibly even at her but for the chains tying him to the chair.

This behaviour robbed the defence of its last tiny chance to make him appear as the caring, worshipping lover he had always wanted to make her believe he was. Lavinia is released from the questioning soon afterwards and I watch her while she's sitting down on the observer's bench beside another woman with equally red hair who could be her mother. Only now, after the questions are over, she looks worn out, almost like she would break down if she weren't in public.

I only stop looking at her when I feel Carrow watching me. She has kept her side of the agreement up to now but I still don't trust her. She's been trying to ask me questions about Lavinia and give me unwanted advice ever since she had found out there had been a friendship between us once.

Luckily, the next witness is now called and draws all attentions to her. Clarissa Tatley is brought to the witness stand by two Aurors. The young woman is already wearing the Azkaban uniform and appears shaky, almost ill. You can see that her face had once been pretty, now she looks sunken, her brown hair blunt and uncombed. In the course of the investigation against Roshenkov, she had been exposed as another unmarked Death Eater and was consequently arrested.

Tatley had decided to testify against Roshenkov to get herself a mitigation of her sentence. He is glaring at her in open hatred. At first, her story isn't too different from those Carrow had already told me. She tells how Roshenkov and she herself had assisted in planning attacks, had looked for funds or members of the Order to attack. Neither he nor she herself had been in the inner circle like Carrow, they had been at the margins, supporting them, spying for them, hiding them – and had caused almost as much damage by it as those inside, only indirectly.

Death Eater trials always bring to light the worst in people, the worst of practices and of ideas. Tatley isn't reformed at all, even after her arrest. In her tale you can still make out these disgusting misconceptions of pureblood pride that apparently can't stop causing trouble.

Suddenly however, Tatley starts talking about the events of November five years ago, the final seats of the war and I start dreading it. She's telling how all the efforts of one of the last Death Eater cells were concentrated on hiding Charles Avery.

I flinch. Charles Avery, the Charles Avery who had attacked Lavinia in our sixth years, to one who might have killed her that night if I hadn't rescued her, quite despite myself; the Charles Avery who had afterwards not only forced us to keep our friendship hidden but also hindered Tony and her to pose openly as a couple... Tony, Charles Avery had been killed by Tony... and he had taken him with him. I shiver and dread looking at Lavinia.

Clarissa Tatley is approaching the day where it all happened, the day that had produced one of the last heroes of the war. "As I already told, Boreas has a very large network of friends and acquaintances", she's explaining, "most of them have never found out whose side he really was on. That day, he returned to our hotel room very excited. He had just talked to an unsuspecting Auror friend of his" – "Do you remember his name?" – "No, I can't recall he had told one. He rarely did. But he told me that the Order was about to attack the hiding place of Avery because of some anonymous hint." I know for a fact that this hint had been given by Lucinda Carrow, who's sitting beside me seemingly unaffected – but I'm horrified when I realise what the rest of the tale means...

"Boreas set off at once to warn them. They had just time enough to set a trap for the approaching Order", Tatley concludes. I nearly let my notebook drop on the floor. Boreas Roshenkov had been the person who had ruined the surprise attack of the Order; he is partly responsible for Tony's death. How could he even look into Lavinia's eyes, let alone start a _relationship_ with her? I'm feeling increasingly sick and I'm absolutely dreading to look at Lavinia... but I can't help turning to her.

She's not so composed anymore, the shock clearly on her face, she's looking very pale. And neither the Chief Mugwug nor the witness has any pity with her. Rushworth is asking Tatley to specify the trap they had been setting. "They waited at Avery's hideout, with a group of at least ten people. The street where the flat was located was a very narrow one way street, with only a few crossings. When the Aurors arrived, the Death Eaters immediately apparated on the street and started to pound the Order members", for a witness in a court trial, one in Azkaban uniform and accompanied by Aurors guarding her, Tatley lets herself get carried away far too easily... and painfully. She's falling into an almost chatty voice, like she is enjoying the attention. Insolent, silly person! I wish someone would make her shut up, if not for the general public's sanity then at least for Lavinia's comfort. She's gone as pale as a sheet.

"They managed to get quite a few of us down, but in the end we'd been the superior force and Avery and Cahill had still been giving them hell. So the Order decided to beat a hasty retreat, but someone had to cover their sixes. In the end they left one man behind. I don't know what exactly happened but he managed to take Avery and Cahill down, sacrificing himself. The way I heard it, he was some Gryffindor mudblood trying to be a hero." Tatley stops and there's silence; total, utter silence in a room full of people. Is she that unscrupulous or didn't she know that the Gryffindor "mudblood" – how dares she use such an insult in court, already facing years in Azkaban – had been Lavinia's husband?

Like in trance I'm watching Lavinia whispering something to the woman beside her, getting up and leaving the room.

_Lavinia:_

Isn't it ironic? For five years I managed to evade _everything_ and _everyone_ which or who might have told me how exactly Tony had died and then, when I thought I was over it and could even start a new relationship it turns out my evil ex-boyfriend was the one setting up the trap for my goody-two-shoes husband. I feel like I'm part of a bad courtroom drama or something. And to make matters worse, the whole thing caught me totally off-guard. I could actually feel all the blood rushing from my face the moment that Death Eater girl disclosed Boreas' part in the ambush that killed Tony. I could also feel the nausea welling up when she started to talk about the whole ordeal as if it wasn't more than some unpleasant domestic fight in the neighbourhood which in the end prompted me to bolt from the room the minute she was done with her statement. I hope Aunt Aurelia bought the flimsy excuse of having to go to the bathroom. But, okay, it actually wasn't that much of an excuse because I _really_ was sick.

And now I'm sitting here, struggling to ignore the taste of bile that just won't go away, no matter how much water I use to clean my mouth. I know I should go in again, but I just _can't_. I was okay with their questions because the prosecution had prepared me for them, and I could even defy Boreas' outbreak, but this… this is maybe just the straw that broke the camel's back. I can't and I won't go in there again, into the same room with the man who'd been responsible for the death of my husband and had the _guts_ to come back five years later and start romancing me. And destroyed a friendship that meant more to me than I was actually willing to acknowledge in the process.

Part of my unwillingness to face Boreas again comes from feeling so incredibly _embarrassed_ by the whole thing. I mean… Merlin, I was just so _stupid_. I could have seen all of that just so much earlier, but I didn't and now I have to live with the fact that I'd let… I'd let one of Tony's murderers into my bed… into the bed I used to share with Tony. Oh God, going to be sick again… Breathe, Lavinia, breathe. Now, there's a good girl.

Phew. That was close. But I still don't want to go back in. Now I _do_ wish Aunt Aurelia would realise I wasn't coming back and would come out to see where I was… as if on cue the court room door opens and I straighten myself up on reflex. Aurelia is worrying already enough about me, so I really don't need her to see how I _really_ am.

But the figure emerging is not Aunt Aurelia, but someone else entirely. It's… Orion. Drat. For a moment it looks like he's passing me by without acknowledging me and I almost hope he does, but then it seems like he's changed his mind and he comes toward me, but doesn't say anything. Awkward silence ensues and I honestly wish he would have just ignored me. What does he want from me, anyway? He had his chance to gloat and even _he_ should see that now is not quite the right moment for another go.

Or maybe… he just wants to be polite? Merlin, McNeil, this whole thing has really shaken you up. I take a deep breath and finally manage a pretty casual "Hey." Wow, that was really deep, McNeil.

You can see that he's really uncomfortable with the whole situation and so am I. Finally he obviously brings himself to answer with a stereotype "Are you okay?"

My first impulse is to tell him that yes, of course I'm okay, but my still queasy stomach makes me realise that would probably sound pretty silly since he can clearly see I'm everything but. So I settle with: "I will be, once this is all over. But… thanks for asking." Even if I'm actually sick of that question.

He nods. "I hope so", and after a short moment of hesitation he adds: "I... had no idea of the whole extent."

I shake my head and answer with a trace of sarcasm in my voice: "Well, me neither." And before I know it, another sentence is out in the air: "And now I wish I still hadn't.", said in a voice much quieter than I'd intended.

"What do you mean?" Oh. Great. Now something piqued his curiosity and he'll get into interview mode in no time. But not today, Mr Yaxley.

"Nothing. I was just… thinking aloud." Question: What do you do when someone has taken an interest in things you don't want to talk about? Answer: Ask them some random stuff and they will rather like to talk about themselves. "How… are you?" Yeah, baby, show him you're as good with stereotype questions as he is.

That does take him a little aback, because he starts with an automatic "I'm f-", but finally finishes with "Had a lot to do.", which seems like the understatement of the year. For the first time I realise he looks as much like hell as I probably do. There are big dark smudges under his eyes, his blonde hair is as unruly as short blonde hair can be and his whole posture seems to have slumped down rather than his usual straight and brought bearing.

I consider mentioning that one can _very_ clearly see _how_ much he had to do, but for some reason I just stay with "I… can imagine. What with all the commotion in Argentina and the trial… and your divorce." The moment it's out I could smack my head against a wall. You just _had_ to bring _that_ up, right McNeil?

Orion, though, is a professional, as always. "That will soon settle, I'm sure", is his only rather evasive comment. "The biggest storm of it is over... some things will soon be... rectified." Rectified? Well, whatever _that_ means. And it's none of my business, anyway, so I should stop prying. "And Argentina will hopefully be more quiet now, thanks to you." I could actually have done without that honour if it would have kept me out of all the other trouble.

"Well… I do what I can." What a poor attempt at humour, McNeil. Orion wants to reply something, but the court room door opens another time. This time it _is_ Aunt Aurelia, looking mighty worried and a little hassled. Obviously the situation in court hasn't improved any.

"Merlin, Lavinia, _there_ you are. You were giving me quite the scare, what with not coming back and everything… oh. Where are my manners? Lavinia, love, who's this nice gentleman?" Thanks for subtly reminding me of _my_ manners, Auntie. I would have introduced Orion to you a lot sooner if you hadn't come charging out of the court room.

"Au… Cousin Aurelia, this is Orion Yaxley, associate-editor-in-chief of the _Daily Prophet_ and a… classmate from School." At first she gives him a – very impolite – scrutinising once-over, but then she suddenly smiles and extends her hand to him.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Yaxley. Lavinia's been talking quite a deal about you." Wha…? What is _that_ for? I have _not_ been talking "quite a deal" about to Orion to you! I just… mentioned him once or twice. In my world that's _not_ sufficient to be called "quite a deal".

Okay, just ignore this and spare the wigging for later. "Orion, this is my second cousin Aurelia Woodruff, the only known witch in my father's family. She agreed to accompany me since my parents couldn't come here today."

Orion takes her hand to shake it and answer very formally: "Pleased to meet you, too, Ms Woodruff." Then, suddenly, he seems to have realised that Aunt Aurelia is his ticket out of this whole dreadfully embarrassing ordeal and he says "If you'll excuse me, I have to get back in." Coward. But I have to admit that it saves _me_ from any more embarrassing comments as well.

As it is, Aunt Aurelia excuses herself as well, hurrying off to the bathroom. Orion hesitates just for the fraction of a moment to really go back in, and that makes me consider saying all kinds of things. Like apologising for how I behaved in the whole Boreas-story, telling him I didn't mean to hurt him when I wanted to be alone or telling him that I miss him, even have been missing him all the time I'd been together with Boreas, but in the end I get stuck with: "Orion… take care of yourself. Don't… don't work yourself to death."

He gives me an actual smile, albeit a lopsided one and replies "I won't", strangely making it sound like a promise. And again the court room door opens, this time with a lot more people coming out: trial break, obviously. If only Aunt Aurelia would come back… I really want to go now, to escape all the questioning and pitying looks.

Orion has finally gone, but I catch sight of him again, standing together with a blond woman in a skimpy outfit instead of robes like everyone else is wearing. Lucinda Carrow. Orion Yaxley is talking to Lucinda Carrow. Merlin, I really didn't have to see _that_ of all things. Forcing myself to turn away from that sight I concentrate on the bathroom door, now more desperately waiting for Aunt Aurelia than before.

When I finally see her coming out of the bathroom, I'm about to smile in relief when I suddenly hear a female voice from behind me say: "I _told_ you to stick to the decent Slytherin. But you didn't and now even _he_ is taken. Just your luck, McNeil." I freeze. What the… How did Carrow get behind me? And what business does she have playing "I told you so" with me? Furious, I turn around to give something dirty back, but she's already gone, talking to another witch and appearing like she never even realised I'm here.

"Hey, love, is everything okay?" I turn back to Aunt Aurelia and give her a reassuring smile, even if we both know that it's fake.

"Yes… mainly. Listen… do you… really want to stay until the end? Because, honestly… I think I need to get home now." She gives me a sympathetic look and squeezes my shoulder. Actually I'm glad I took Aurelia with me instead of Mum or Dad. Mum would have wanted me to stay the whole time, because – quote – "O'Learys don't back down. _Ever_." and Dad would have worried about me constantly. Aurelia though somehow knows when to be there and when to leave me alone and she's a very pragmatic woman. I couldn't have chosen anyone better to accompany me through this whole ordeal.

"Not a problem. We'll get you home and then we'll have some tea. Everything is better with tea." She smiles at me and her tea-slogan makes me smile a little as well.

"Yes, everything's better with tea." And with that we finally leave the choking confines of the Ministry.

* * *

**A/N: **Finally back again. I'm sorry for the hiatus, but it seems that writing Lorne/Cadman ("Stargate Atlantis", for all of you not familiar with these names) has taken up most of my creativity. They just won't let me write anything else until their next story is finished... but I'm trying hard, really.

And then there is this whole Euro2008 going on over here (i.e. Switzerland, where rareb, my co-author comes from), which takes up _both_ our time as well. It'll finish at the end of June, so maybe we'll have something written until then :) (or, which is much more likely, will be able to _start_ writing then).

Anyway... we miss our reviewers! Where are you, girls? Come back, we really liked you ;) Honestly!


	35. Chapter 35

**Thirty-****Five**

"_So who are you gonna turn to when the light is fading  
Who are you gonna run to when the rain sets in  
Who do you come to when the blues comes calling"_

_Tina Turner, "Stay a while"_

_Orion:_

The Roshenkov-trials still go on, but I'm not really in them anymore. Other subjects have taken the front page. Since our more than awkward meeting outside the courtroom doors, I haven't seen Lavinia again. I can't figure out what it meant, it had almost been like we didn't have anything to say to each other anymore. On the other hand... the comment of her cousin made me wonder – what did Lavinia tell her family about me? Is it a good sign that she has or rather not?

Thankfully, I have a new thing keeping me from pondering too much about it uselessly. I've finally found an apartment in London. It's comparatively small, only five rooms, nothing compared to Norfolk, of course. It came already furnished, which was a relief to me – even though the furniture is almost too modern for my liking, it makes the rooms feel cold.

It's Sunday morning and I'm sitting in my new living room, drinking tea and looking out of the window over the city. She's late again. Not that it's surprising me in any way. Maybe I could re-arrange my things in here in the meantime... I startle when I hear the door bell ring. That must be a new record, only half an hour, and on a Sunday, too.

I get up and open the door. "Good Morning, Carrow," I say and step aside to let her in. She has asked me every time to call her "Lucy", but I always refused – she must feel that we're not friends, even though our arrangement makes her visits here very frequent.

"Morning Yaxley," she's grumbling, albeit smiling in the process and taking off her black coat. She's automatically turning towards my study and I follow. It had been evident that we wouldn't be able to meet in one of the offices or even in public, not to raise suspicions. My new, unknown London apartment proved to be the best solution. Carrow even sits down in the chair I've already started calling her chair. "Working on a Sunday... tell me, do you _ever_ take a day off, Yaxley?"

"No. And it's none of your concern. Have you finished the article?" I'm asking her. She's rolling her eyes, fumbling in her handbag and finally hands over a piece of paper to me.

"Final version. But you could really take a day off once in a while, would do a lot of people good," she says. I'm ignoring her comment and only run over the article. She had realized that people were craving for news about me and my divorce, like I had already predicted they would and I had reluctantly allowed her to write an article containing to truth, part of it, anyway. Even though I had forbidden her writing negatively about Bryony, I had judged it better to redirect some of the blame from me to my wife and let Carrow explain who had _really_ been cheating on whom.

"It's okay." I hand it back to her. "You can publish that, even though I object to your style."

"As always." I catch her rolling her eyes on me again.

"You shouldn't complain about that, you know it could be worse," I say. "Tea before we start?"

"Please," it's almost a routine already. I call Bongo to bring us tea and prepare my automatic quill and notebook for the interview. Up to now, our schedule had been dominated by recent events and had consisted solely of details about the Death Eaters – but today, I finally want to start hearing her own story.

"What's still puzzling me about the information on you is, why you have two names," I start. "You were born Jessica Miller but in the magical world you're only known as Lucinda Carrow. Why is that?"

Like every time she comes here, she's shifting a little uneasy in her chair, trying to evade the question – but it slowly gets better, she knows I won't let it rest if she refuses to answer. With a deep breath, she starts talking. "My father is a Muggle, my mother a pureblood, but I guess you know that." She stops. Great, that doesn't answer my question at all.

"So why have you entered Hogwarts as Lucinda Carrow? Or should I ask who the woman of that name in the closed ward at St. Mungo's is?" She flinches at the name St. Mungo's. Surely she couldn't have been involved with whatever happened to that person? With Death Eaters you never know...

She needs some time to make up her answer; I even imagine her going a little pale. I've seen her react weird to many questions, but this one didn't seem to be overly delicate to me. "She's my mother", there's a sad undertone in her voice I've never heard before. "She..." there's a pause – she swallows. "Okay... okay, so... so I'm going to tell you. But... you're not going... you're... please let her in peace."

I'm quite caught off guard. What is the matter? It's as if there's another person sitting in front of me – nothing of the cool, mysterious blonde she normally displays... it feels more like I'm talking to some scared little girl.

"I didn't know about magic until I was six years old," her voice is even trembling a little. "I've lived in a Muggle suburb with my father and my mother, a happy little girl named Jessica. Until... one day... when I got home..." she swallows again, as if she was suppressing mounting tears. Is she acting or is this real? With her, you honestly never know. It's creepy, hearing this person talk. "I... I didn't... my mother..." Lucinda Carrow babbling, who'd have thought that possible? "I didn't find her at first; she didn't answer when I called. I've been searching the house until..."

Silence. For a moment I fear she wouldn't go on, but then she collects herself. "I found her sitting at the kitchen table, motionless. She had..." there are tears in her eyes and it's me who's starting to feel increasingly uncomfortable. I honestly don't think she's acting. "A knife in her hand... aimed... aimed at herself," she stutters.

I frown to cover my shock. I had no idea... she was six years old? What had happened? Suddenly, she starts talking very fast. "Then there appeared people, wizards, who took her to... St. Mungo's... and my grandparents came, too. Those I had never seen before, the Carrows. They told me that I was a witch, that my father had left me and my mother, because he's a Muggle , that I'm now called Lucinda, like... my mother, and that I would have to go to the Hesper Gaunt Institute for Pureblood Orphans for a couple of days until my mother was well again." She sighs.

"She's never got well again. They had tried memory charms to heal her... but all they achieved was... erasing her memory altogether. She's... she's been... lying there for twenty years... not knowing who she is or who... I am." Wow. That's... I have no idea what all this has to do with her becoming a Death Eater, but... that's hard stuff. I don't know what to say. It is true, sometimes you should be careful what you ask.

Finally, I collect myself. "What happened to you in the meantime?"

"Well," she sighs again. "I stayed at the institute. You know its reputation, I presume." It starts dawning on me. Yes, I know the reputation of that institute. It had taken in most of the orphans on the pureblood side after the first war... it is known to have produced several of the most ardent Death Eaters. "Imagine growing up there as a halfblood." Carrow's already almost calm again, like she hadn't almost been crying only minutes ago.

"Wouldn't that rather convince you against the Death Eaters?" I point out.

Carrow is laughing - a cold, heartless laugh. "They convinced me that my father's being a Muggle had landed me in the situation – because he was a selfish Muggle, he had left my mother and me to our fates. Nobody hated Muggles more than me. Avenging my mother and killing him had been my objective for a very long time. They wanted to 'save' the pureblood part of me. I was easily convinced."

I startle. "But... your father is still alive and you left the Death Eaters..."

There's actually an ironic expression on her face. "That's because they have been lying. He hadn't left my family on purpose. It had been an intrigue by my grandparents." I can make out an insane flicker in her eyes. She seems to speak to herself rather than to me. "But they have paid. _They_ are mysteriously dead now." I shiver. I have a suspicion about _who_ had been responsible for their deaths. In moments like this it always hits me that she's a murderer. Whatever happened to her, however tragic her story is – she _murdered_ people. I'm not sure how much of this I'll be able to take. Just minutes before, I pitied her and now... I start thinking about turning her in again. It's folly.

"Did you kill them?" I hear myself asking. Why do I ask that? She doesn't answer, of course. But I'm pretty sure there's something of a smile at the edges of her mouth. The irony is – someone who hadn't heard my question would surely believe her expression to be totally innocent. Half of me is disgusted by her behaviour... the rest can't help being fascinated.

_

* * *

Lavinia:_

Merlin, what I wouldn't give for a few quiet days now, like these back at Yaxley Manor in December. But there's Boreas' trial and all those people wanting to know "how I feel" and well, there's always training. They told me to take a few days off, but the Magpies are in the finals for the British Quidditch Cup for the first time since… forever… twenty years or something, and I can't afford any lapses now, if I want to be part of the team that wins the Cup.

Besides, Orion's strategy of work against private problems may be not so wrong, at all. At least, physical exhaustion takes my mind off all the other stuff. If there only wasn't Chiverston and this stupid Captaincy issue. Ever since stupid Carrow brought this up in her articles, the rumours just won't die down anymore. And Chiverston obviously feels the need to remind me of not being worthy even being _considered_ a candidate at any chance she gets.

I mean… Chiverston has always been a… _difficult_ character at her best, but she's really starting to get on my nerves. As if I had _any_ further interest in becoming the Magpies' Captain. Alright, so, yes, that would be a major career boost and I do think I'm up to the task – or I will be, when this whole ordeal is over – but I won't be devastated if they choose someone else over me.

Well… yes, I'd be bitter and resentful and downright angry, if they chose _Chiverston_, but I would _not_ be devastated. And anyway, our best candidate is Eric Larson, our Keeper. If I'd be asked to bet on one of the three of us, my money would be on him all the way. He's the most experienced and most successful of the three of us, and he'd deserve it, as well.

Still…all the training and having to deal with Chiverston's stupid scheming and intriguing can't get my head off this last meeting with Orion in the Ministry. He'd looked so… tired. Made me nearly want to get up, give him a hug and confine him to his bed until he's slept a good solid ten hours. But as it is, Orion and I am over. I mean, as friends. Not that there's been anything _else_ we could be over as. And not that I ever _wanted_ us to be something else than friends. Sure, he's kind of attractive, and when he's not trying to aggravate me, he can be quite nice and… GAH!

This is just not the line of thought I should be pursuing now. It just isn't. Instead, I should… "Lavinia? Are you home?" _Merlin_! Coach just gave me a near heart attack, when his head suddenly appeared in the fireplace. That's why the first thing I return is a furious glare. But Coach wouldn't be Coach if he'd let himself be intimidated by it.

"As you can see, yes, I am. What is it?" Now after his first disapproving glance, Coach's face becomes quite sombre. What the…?

"We have… a problem. Larson just had an accident. They didn't tell me all of it, but obviously he won't be able to return before the Season is finished." Oh _no_. Larson is the best Keeper we have. Without him… we can forget about the Cup.

"That's… quite unsettling. But he'll be back, right? I mean, it wasn't something _serious_ serious?" Coach makes a face and rubs his neck. Not a good sign.

"No, I guess not. I mean, he's still alive… but obviously banged enough that they won't let him play for quite some time. Listen, Lavinia… I know you maybe don't want to hear this, but this Season depends on you now." He's kidding, right? Shouldn't it be the _Seeker_ everything depends on? _I_ don't score the big goals. That's Chiverston, as much as I dislike that thought.

"Look, Coach, I…" He holds up his hand. Typical. Let your people finish their sentences? No way, yours are _always_ more important.

"This isn't just about scoring. It's about you and the team. They need someone they can look up to, whom they can trust… that's you, no matter if you believe me or not. And as sad as this is… that's your chance to make Captain. Don't blow it." But whoever said I _wanted_ to be Captain? What's it with people and judging me totally wrong?

"Coach, honestly, I don't think… _no_, this is my turn now." I glare at him, and after a short battle of staring and intimidating each other he relents. Good boy. "I don't even know if I _want_ to be Captain. Let's just concentrate on the Cup now, and worry about everything else when it's over."

He wants to say something – no doubt a good scolding about showing at least a _bit_ of ambition – but then just settles with, "Alright. Maybe I forgot you had some other issues to worry about right now." Merlin, Coach, not you, too. "But we'll talk about this Captain thing later. This is not over, Mrs McNeil." Ah, at last, _one_ good thing about this stupid mess with Boreas and Orion and all this Death Eater business: It shuts Coach up about this whole Captaincy issue. Now, if it would shut up _Chiverston_ as well…

"Agreed, boss. Now… was there something else you wanted to tell me?" Ah, Mrs McNeil, this is a _very_ impolite way to tell someone to bugger off.

Coach, of course, is not amused, but thankfully just says: "No. Training tomorrow. Don't be late." Pfff. As if I was ever late for training. Okay, so maybe sometimes I'm not _right_ on schedule, but I'm not _late_.

"No, sir." I give him a mock salute, to which he just roles his eyes and then finally disappears. Now… what to do with these shocking news?

* * *

**A/N: **So... yes, we're back. And we'd like to thank **Adecge** for the advice on punctuation. Actually, that's something teachers who teach English as a foreign language never cover, neither in Germany nor in Switzerland and we automatically used German punctuation (yep, that really _is_ different from English punctuation). We're planning on reworking all past chapters in that regard, but we'll need some time for that. We hope that's okay with you :)


	36. Chapter 36

**Thirty-six**

"_The winner takes it all  
the loser has to fall  
it's simple and it's plain  
why should I complain."_

_ABBA, "The Winner Takes it All"_

Whoa, today's the day. As in "Our first final since twenty years, and we're gonna _win_ it!"-day. The best thing about that: It takes my mind off anything else, and it's about the one thing I don't completely suck at. The worst thing? We are minus our Beater, and that's a big blow. But we can do this. For some reason I can't fathom, I managed to whip the team in shape together with Coach, and even Chiverston behaved herself. Yeah, well, as far as Chiverston can behave herself, that is. Anyway, maybe I should think up some pep-talk, while I change…

"I'm surprised that you're here, Lavinia." Huh? Who… Surprised I turn around, only to find myself face to face with Witch Weekly's top hyena, Lucinda Carrow. This isn't happening, right?

"Yeah… so?" Wow, comeback of the year, McNeil.

"Well, after what happened a few days ago." Oh, aren't we mighty informative today. That could cover just about _everything_, from the dredged trial to the minor disturbances in the floo network two days ago. I know I should be nice and polite now and I should probably try and make her talk, because she's Lucinda Carrow which means she wouldn't be here if she hadn't some agenda that somehow incorporates me, most of all considering that there haven't been any articles about me in the past few weeks. But I have an important game in about an hour, and I _just sodding don't have to deal with any of this_.

"You know what? Get lost. Find some wannabe Oliver Wood, drag him behind a broom shed and keep your nose out of other people's business." Mh, you're definitely getting better at snapping at people.

However, Carrow just grins. What was so funny about that, huh? "Good idea, but actually I already have a date. With Yaxley." Wham. For a moment, I draw a blank, on about _any_ response. About a million things are going through my head right now, and none of them pleasant. In fact… I feel something suspiciously close to nausea coming up at the thought of Orion and that… harlot together. How… _could_ he? After what Bryony did to him… after what _Carrow_ did to him?

No, wait. That's not supposed to give me any headaches. I'm not supposed to waste any thoughts on that. We don't have anything to do with each other anymore, this is a free country, he can do as he pleases. Even if it's totally out of character and simply doesn't make any sense. It's not my business.

Doesn't mean, though, that I want to have a chat with Carrow about this. "Ah, sounds great. Have fun. And don't bother to talk to me again." A little too abruptly, I turn around and walk away, taking care not to walk too brisk, but I have the distinct feeling that it looks more like storming away than being unperturbed. And yeah, behind me I can hear the faint echo of Carrow's amused laugh.

It seems to follow me all the way to the locker room. Hopefully Chiverston isn't there already… dammit, I don't get spared anything today, right? Okay, McNeil, smile, greet, change. Put on your game face, don't let her see how that encounter just rattled you up. Which it didn't, remember?

"So… feeling up to the challenge today?" Chiverston's honey-sweet voice drifts over to me, and again I have the feeling that someone's got an agenda here. Dammit, that's all Orion's fault. I never used to be so suspicious of anyone until _he_ got me started on this paranoia thing.

"Yeah, sure. Some reason why I shouldn't?" My, are you a merry little sunshine, today. What happened to staying cool and not letting anything on?

"Oh well… we really would do better with Larson, you know." Yeah… so? What's with everyone's knack for stating the obvious today?

I can barely suppress an unnerved sigh. "We've had bigger problems than lacking a Beater. This'll be a cake walk." Whoa, yeah, way to go. Remember that for the pep-talk, should you be required to give one.

"Lavinia, Lavinia… you surprise me. I honestly thought you liked poor Eric. But you really don't sound all that worried about him at all." Oh, _now_ it's "poor Eric"? I seem to remember a time when it was "that stupid Larson-guy". Now I do sigh.

"Look, what is this about? I do like Eric, and I'm really very sorry that this happened to him, but it's not like he didn't know what he signed up for. He always knew what could happen, and he'll be okay in a few weeks' time. These things happen. It was just an unfortunate accident." I shrug, because it's true. I've been at St. Mungo's and had a little chat with Eric about all of this. Poor guy was more upset about not being able to play today than about the pain he still had to endure.

Something in what I just said must have been piqued her interest, because she says, "Unfortunate maybe, but… not quite… _accidentally_."

Huh? "What do you mean, not quite accidentally?" She grins, distinctively looking like a hyena. Something Orion once said comes to my mind just now. "Just because you wouldn't do this, doesn't mean others won't." What… the hell did I just stumble into?

"Oh, Lavinia, you poor thing. You didn't really think Larson's accident _was_ an accident, did you?" What the…? What is she implying? "Really, it was _so_ obvious. And you know… you should be thankful After all, you profited from that as well. He was our hottest rival for the Captain's badge." _Our_ hottest rival? Maybe _her_ hottest rival. _I_ never thought that the Captaincy was the Holy Grail or something. I don't even know if I would want to be Captain if they would decide about that now instead of three weeks later.

"Look, Chiverston… I have no idea what you're talking about. And I don't want anything to do with it." She laughs the bright laugh that makes her one of society's darlings.

"Oh, but you already have. Because Larson's incapacitated now, your own standing increased considerably. I might have to do something about that as well." Chiverston smiles brightly and even has the gall to wink at me. I think I'm going to be sick.

"Do what you will, but leave _me_ out of it. If I'm gonna be Captain, I'm gonna be because I'm the best player, not a conniving bitch." She wants to answer something, but I simply grab my broom and brush past her. I really don't have to listen to this.

But just as I'm about to leave for the Pitch, she calls after me, "The only reason you are pretending to be repulsed by me is because you know as good as I that in another world our roles could have been reversed. I'm just the dark side you refuse to acknowledge."

That's enough now. If I ever wanted to become Captain, I surely don't want to now. If I need to be a back-stabbing murderous bitch to get even near that badge, Chiverston can have it. _I_ just want her to see that what she did was wrong. I… I would love to teach her a lesson, actually.

But... maybe later. Now it's game time. And it's gonna be a hard one, because Larson was our best beater. I take a deep breath an walk onto the Pitch, with Chiverston right behind me. I just hope she doesn't forget the actual playing after all her scheming, because if we win this game, the Magpies will be English champion the first time after twenty years, even before the Season is over.

The referee releases the Snitch, and immediately Chiverston and Albright, the Harpies' Searcher, kicks off. Then the Quaffel and the Bludgers are released. Finally some release from all the power games and other complicated stuff and some good old Quidditch exhilaration.

_

* * *

Orion:_

"Can I come in?" Lucinda Carrow is standing outside the door of my London apartment, holding a bottle of Firewhisky, looking hopeful. I frown.

"Why? We haven't got an appointment. What do you want?" It had been hard enough impressing on her that she really shouldn't mess with our agreement – and now she starts stopping by on her own account? I'm not too thrilled with the perspective. I had counted on working on the Roshenkov-Argentina connection some more today. That's why I left work already around eight in the evening – to enjoy the quiet of the apartment. And now, there's Carrow.

"I have some news," she's stating, shaking the bottle. "Several news, actually. Just let me in."

I'm not enthusiastic about it; but she got me curious, so I stand aside to let her in. She has a sickeningly pleased smile on her face that almost makes me repent. "So, what's the news?" I ask her, as she puts the bottle on the table in the hallway and takes off her coat. She turns back to me.

"Bryony came to see me. As you can imagine, she's furious," she tells me, obviously not too concerned about it. She's grinning at me as if she were very pleased with the result.

"And, that's your news?" I ask back in a sarcastic voice. I don't think that's what she came here for. She has lifted up the bottle again and disappears into the kitchen like she owned the place. I follow her. "What do you think you're doing here, in _my_ apartment, anyway?" Lucinda opens the cupboard, takes out two glasses and pours Firewhisky into them.

"Here," she hands me one of the glasses, "your wife wants to know why I've suddenly switched sides. You see, I was supposed to be on her side."

I sniff at the whisky in my hand and lift the glass to toast to her. She immediately drowns half of it. I only sip at the glass. I haven't got the best experience with too much to drink. "I still don't see the news. Bryony has asked me the same question, you see. She's convinced that you've only talked her into this campaign against me so _you_ could have a go at me." I observe her reaction as I say it. She's neither surprised nor concerned by it. "She told you the same story, didn't she?"

Carrow nods and grins at me over the rim of her glass. "I can live with that," she answers.

"But I can't, Carrow. Think something up. I don't want to be linked to you in _any_ possible way in public." I stare at her.

"If you say so," there's a lot of irony in her voice. I don't know if I should trust her in that, but let it be for the moment.

"So, what's the real news?" I ask, as I'm leading her back into the living room. I have to do something about her; she's much too comfortable around here.

"Burke is not taking the hint", she says matter-of-factly, sitting down on the sofa and carelessly crossing her legs. "Rumour is, he still wants to sanction your behaviour; says divorce can't be accepted for your lot." I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, guess why," I wash down rest of the whisky. "He's been sleeping with her." I don't know if that's true. Bryony only told me that she had gone after my friends – she never specified who it had been. I'm suspecting that Burke has been among them, he has always had a thing for women of all sorts. It's this kind of hypocrisy that makes me mad.

Carrow isn't commenting on that. Instead, she's refilling both our glasses and looks up at me: "You're taking it surprisingly well."

"What? That she cheated?" I snap back, but Lucinda shakes her head.

"The accident." She's talking in riddles. What accident?

"Sorry, you lost me here." Confused, I take up my whisky again.

She's smiling to herself, as if she had expected me not to know. "Honestly, do you really not follow Quidditch at all?" Quidditch... Lavinia! The glass slips out of my hand and shatters on the floor. Lavinia has had an accident and nobody's telling me? I glare at Carrow who's obviously only come here to gloat. I could strangle her.

"Relax," she's telling me. "_She_ isn't hurt. It's Helena Chiverston you should be worried about."

I'm not bothering with taking out my wand to clean up the floor. "Just tell me." I consider throwing her out of my apartment right away and find out on my own.

"Your girl-" she starts, but I interrupt.

"She's not my girl."

Lucinda continues unimpressed, "she's been in an accident in her last game on Sunday. I suppose Helena Chiverston-Althorpe won't be playing Quidditch again after that. But McNeil is refusing to play even though she's not hurt, allegedly because she feels guilty for the accident. But if you ask me-"

I interrupt again. "I'm not asking you, Carrow." I have to find out how Lavinia is feeling. Maybe it's all the commotion of these last months that finally got to her. But I mustn't jump to conclusions. Not like Carrow here. "Would you please leave now," I tell her, getting up from my seat to show her I mean it.

"Is this how you thank me for letting you know?" she's accusing me as she gets up, too.

"Oh, you haven't come here to let me know. Now, get going. I'll contact you for the next interview as usual," I almost push her to the door. She's not even really protesting.

"Fine, have a nice little evening here on your own, Yaxley. I hadn't planned on hanging around here anyway," with that, she's leaving. I sigh after closing the door behind her. Can't things be a little quieter some time?

When I get back to the living room, Bongo has cleaned up the floor. I smile. It's good to have house elves. But, Merlin, I have to see Lavinia now. I have to know how she's feeling after that. Even though she didn't want to have anything to do with me anymore last time we met. These are special circumstances, right?

Two days later, I've still not succeeded in contacting Lavinia. I tried everything – writing, floo-powder, calling at her door, waiting for her to come out – but she's hiding out in her apartment.

I'm now sitting on the steps in front of her apartment, but there's no sign of her getting out any time soon. I should really get back to work - all I want is to make sure she's alright. Just when I'm about to declare defeat and leave, I hear someone climbing the stairs. It's Mrs. Wright, the old neighbour living downstairs. She's carrying a laundry basket, but puts it down on the floor when she sees me.

"Mr. Yaxley!" she cries. "What are you doing outside here? Did you have an argument?" I don't get a chance to rectify anything. "Come on, dear, I'll pour you a cup of tea. No use sitting outside here looking miserable. I'm sure you'll work it out. You were such a lovely couple when you visited me last time." With that, she's taking up her basket again and waits until I get up and follow her to her apartment.

She ushers me into her living room and tells me to sit down while she's putting the kettle on. I look around, thinking about how I could get out of this again. Not that I'm annoyed with the old lady personally. I liked her as a neighbour, but she reminds me that we're not neighbours anymore and that I'm not friends with Lavinia anymore, either. I don't have the heart to set Mrs. Wright right and tell her the truth about us.

Here she comes again, with a loaded tray containing not just the tea, but biscuits and little treats, too. "There you go," she's handing me a cup and forces a biscuit on me. "That's better, Mr. Yaxley. You look tired, dear." Funny, everyone except me seems to notice that.

"I've had a lot on my plate these last months, Mrs. Wright," I concede with a sigh. "And I still have, as a matter of fact. I'm sorry, I can't stay much longer." But the old lady is shaking her head.

"No, dear. I'm sure you have more time than you think. It's no good rushing so much, you'll regret it later," she tells me, patting my hand.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh well, yes, this story is still alive (unfortunately only because **rareb** doesn't forget nagging me to continue it, even though I constantly get overrun by SGA bunnies...) and we do intent on finishing it. Honestly. We _know_ where we want to go and how to get there. I just have toactually_ write_ my parts. I will take this as a lesson in keeping to my promises then.

We would also like to thank our reviewer **Adecge** for writing such a nice and elaborate review. _Maaaybe_ we should start looking around for a beta for this one ;) (I do have one, but only for my Stargate stories). **Rareb** wants to point out that she agrees with you that Orion manages to get everything out of Lucy pretty easily (maybe a tad _too_ easily), which is probably due to the fact that there's a much bigger backstory to Orion and Lucy than we have room to cover here.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N:** And we arrrrrrrre... back! Yes, we still exist and we haven't forgotten this story. In fact, we finally started working on it again and we're now well into chapter 41. Yay us :D BTW, as one of our reviewers pointed out: Yes, there is a Death Eater Yaxley in DH. However, since we started writing this before DH came out we didn't know about that but we reacted and mentioned Orion's uncle Corvus Yaxley who is responsible for the deaths of Orion's parents and is now in Azkaban in chapter 24. Yes, we do have a tendency to be obsessive-compulsive ;)

* * *

**Thirty-seven**

"_It's not over tonight  
Just give me one more chance to make it right  
I may not make it through the night  
I won't go home without you."_

_Maroon 5, "Won't go home without you"_

_Lavinia_

I wish I turned deaf. Because, you know, then I wouldn't hear the knocking on my door. I also wish I had no idea who it is, but even after about a week – or maybe longer? Think I kind of lost track of time – of only leaving my bedroom to force a piece of toast down my throat, I have my suspicions. Which isn't all that hard since he's been on it for about three or four days now.

I honestly thought it would be clear enough that I don't want contact to _anyone_ when I instructed both April and Pleiade to return all letters immediately, didn't answer to floo calls and kept my door shut. But I obviously underestimated Orion Yaxley's persistency.

Another knock, a little more forcefully now. Groaning I turn around. Where the hell did he get the stupid idea that I would answer _this_ knock when I haven't answered any other knocks? Honestly, what's so hard about understanding the message? Just another knock, and I curl up a little tighter and pull the blanket over my head. Just sodding _go away_.

"Please open the door, dear." What the…? He enlisted _Mrs Wright_? Quite the industrial little fellow. Not that it will change anything, but I have to pay him respect for that ingenious idea. "We are really worried about you." No need to because I'm bloody _fine_. I just need a little time to sort out myself and then I'll be good as new. "Look, whatever Mr Yaxley here said or did, he's really sorry for it." Is he? What the hell did he _tell_ her?

"Yes, I am. Open up, please." Before I know it, I'm sitting upright and eyeing the bedroom's door that's slightly ajar. What… is he up to? "I should have stayed." Okay, that's enough. I don't want to hear anything of that, I just want peace. I want them all to leave me alone. Coach, Mum, the press, Orion… it's gotta stop, and it's gotta stop _now_. Determined, I throw back the covers and stalk towards the door. With a scowl on my face I open it.

And the first thing I get is an aghast "Goodness, you look horrible" from Orion. Without a comment, I close the door again. Honestly, I've had a week from hell – and this time I _mean_ it – and I just don't have to listen to any of this crap. I had to listen to way too much crap ever since that… accident.

"May I suggest you try again, Mr Yaxley? I'm not sure if this was the right opening for a reconciliation." That… almost makes me crack a little smile. I can just image the frown he's giving Mrs Wright, because _he_ doesn't see anything wrong in what he just said. The amazing thing is: For the first time in a week, I actually feel some curiosity coming up. The predominant feeling I had up to now was a mixture of guilt and failure, laced with the ridiculous feeling of being afraid of myself. Very softly I walk back to the door and put my head against it, to hear how Orion will answer.

"Yes, I can see that." Don't be rude, Orion. She's just trying to _help_. "Lavinia… I didn't mean to insult you. I'm just… concerned about you." Wow. Even through the door I can hear how much this admission must have cost him. Sighing silently, I close my eyes. Maybe I really need to tell him face to face to leave me alone. I open the door again to say exactly that.

But then my stupid mouth gets the better of me. "Care to tell me why exactly you're concerned about _me_ when you're dating a certain Lucinda Carrow?" Yeah, way to go. It's not like you've got bigger problems on your plate than your ex-flatmate dating some peroxide blonde witch.

His first reaction is – to my surprise – not denying it right away, but putting a foot in the doorframe, obviously to prevent me from being able to shut it again. "Whoever told you about that nonsense?" Huh. Still no denial. That's… interesting. And although I know I shouldn't be asking about this stuff, because a pretty big part of me simply doesn't want to _know_ about the sordid details of this highly unnatural pairing, another smaller part wants to see how he tries to get out of _this_. I just barely register that Mrs Wright excuses herself and hurries away.

I cross my arms in front of my chest. "Not your business." As is nothing else that concerns me, in case you've forgotten.

Instead of answering, he just marches past me, grabs the door handle from my hand and shuts the door. Hey! Forgotten all your careful polished manners, Yaxley? "Whatever you heard, it's _wrong_, so forget about it. Now, about you…" _No!_

"I thought the fact that I'm not answering any messages should be clear enough to tell you that there is _nothing_ about me." So please just go and let me wallow in self-pity just a little longer. I'm already tired of having to talk to someone.

"I object." Oh, you object. Of course, that changes _everything_. Idiot. "It clearly tells me that there _is_ something about you. Why are you hiding?" What… I'm not _hiding_. I'm just… trying to regroup.

"I'm not. And even if I was, it would be none of your business." There. Just go away.

"Look, if you really have to hide, why not doing it somewhere comfortable?" My place _is_ comfortable. Honestly, where is this conversation supposed to be going? I think it's time to become clear, because he obviously chose to talk _to_ me, not _with_ me.

"I. Am. Not. _Hiding_. And whatever I'm doing, it's _not your sodding business_." He wants to say something again, but I've had it now. "We are _over_, Orion. We don't have anything in common, we can't get on with each other and we bloody always end up hurting each other. I've been hurting enough people in the last few days, and I really don't want to add _you_ to the list. _Again_. So just… do both of us a favour and simply leave." Oh. Errr… wait… I'm… not exactly sure if really wanted to say all of that, especially the last part. And yes, Orion gives me something that's almost close to a deer in headlights look.

He needs a second to come up with something. Then he mumbles something suspiciously like, "It's already too late for that." For _what_, you idiot?

I take a deep breath to calm myself down. "Orion?"

He throws a look around, a little erratic and crestfallen. Then, "Listen… I shouldn't have walked away back when we fought last time. And I'm sorry." He's… what? _I_ didn't listen to him and _he_'s sorry? I think I just entered some alternative reality or something. This is just… too much for me at the moment.

"I… appreciate that. It's just… this comes a little… surprising right now, and I'm not in the right shape for any more surprises. It's not you, honestly. Just me and… needing some time." Dammit, why can't I just keep my trap shut?

"If you need time… why not take it elsewhere?" I shake my head and retreat a little from him, because I don't want him to see how tied up I am.

"Because I'm at home here, and because I only need a few more days. It'll be over then and I'll be okay." As of now… I'm not so sure about that, but I really don't have to tell _him_. And it seems I don't have to anyway, because the look on his face and the raised eyebrow tell me very clearly he doesn't believe a word I just said.

"Yeah, sure, but a little bit of fresh air in a quiet place would still do you good." What, and now you turned into my _mother_?

My eyebrows are raised as well, now, because I have an inkling as to where this is going. "Quiet place?"

"Well, Norfolk, of course. And the press wouldn't find you there." I _knew_ he was going to say that, even the thing about the press. He still _is_ one of those vultures.

Before I know, it's out of my mouth. "Yeah, you should know."

"Yes, I do. That's why I suggested it in the first place." Such a coincidence that _you_ own a place in Norfolk. "There's room enough so you wouldn't have to encounter me if you don't want to." Yeah, maybe not you, but there's still that crazed aunt ghost haunting that house and the pictures that seem to want to spit me on me every time they see me. And your tenants, one of them with a Quidditch crazy daughter. Oh, and horses… wide open spaces of landscapes… cliffs above the roaring sea… sandy beaches… Mh. Wait. That doesn't sound so bad all of a sudden. I eye him suspiciously.

"You'd stay way from me?" He nods.

"If you want me to." Another suspicious look from me.

"And you'd make sure your crazy aunt won't follow me around?" Another nod, albeit a little wary.

"As far as I can, yes." I throw another look around. To be honest… I did feel a little cooped up here. I'd had some bouts of suddenly needing to be outdoor, to breathe some fresh air and I didn't go because I have this feeling that a lot of press vultures have set up their wards in front of my door, just waiting for a chance to ask me if I will accept the Captain's badge and want to hear me say I'm sorry for Chiverston. Which I'm not.

"Alright… fine. But no telling to _anyone_. Not your friends at the Prophet, not Carrow, _no one_. Not even Aunt Aurelia, should you happen to stumble over her." Which he will, because if I know Aurelia right, she's already trying to get access to me via Orion.

_Orion:_

That was hard. It's dark outside when we reach Norfolk and I'm exhausted like I've worked an entire night. I hope it was worth it… Bongo already awaits us by the door. He at least seems to be happy that I'm coming back here. I'm not so sure about Lavinia, she always used to hate house elves. To my surprise, she isn't looking angry about it, not at all… she's even smiling slightly.

What a change from an hour ago, when it looked like she never wanted to leave the house again. "Well…" I say, when we reach the door, "welcome to Yaxley Manor." I shouldn't be such an awkward host. But, what else should I say? It's not as if she was an ordinary guest. I stand aside to let her enter and follow her.

"Thank you," she says, with just a small hint of amusement. Well, I'm glad she's not brusque anymore.

"Bongo," I address my house elf, very glad to finally know exactly what to say in a conversation after all this dreadful business, "Mrs. McNeil is going to stay here for a while. I suppose you can prepare the lilac room for her, like last time. She doesn't want to be disturbed, so, only come when she calls you…" Lavinia wants to interrupt me, but I wave her off and just continue, "she's here on my invitation, so take her orders as well. And… tell the others to watch out for Aunt Carina. She shouldn't come too close to the lilac room while she's here. Understood?"

Bongo nods and bows, then suddenly looks up with a huge smile on his little face. "Oh, Master, look, your owl is back!" What? Pleiade? I turn my head, and behold, there she is, the stupid bird, flying in with Lavinia's April.

"Where have you been, stupid bird? And why are you coming back now?" I ask her, but she ignores me in her very own owlish dignity. Stupid, stupid bird.

"Actually…" I hear Lavinia say behind me and turn around, "the 'stupid bird' stayed with _me_… which might be the reason she's here again." I don't believe it. I… just don't believe it. I shake my head. So, that's where she was… why?

"Don't do that again, Pleiade, do you hear me?" Telling off an owl actually sounds very stupid to me. They obviously have a mind of their own sometimes, and I had to pick an eccentric one, of course.

Lavinia interrupts this line of thought, "Don't be too hard on her. Your owl proved to be cleverer than me." Huh? How could that be possible?

"What are you referring to?" She immediately looks away when I ask the question, clearly uncomfortable about it. Was it something I said? She started it, this time.

"Let's just say, she saw something in _someone_ I did not." Oh… oh… so Pleiade was suspicious of Roshenkov, too? Well, I can see why Lavinia doesn't want to talk about it. But… it doesn't explain why Pleiade stayed with her so long. Stupid bird.

"Um… I guess… everything is settled now. So… do you want to take supper with me afterwards?" Well, that was truly eloquent of me.

Lavinia gives me an apologetic half-smile. "If you don't mind, I'd like to skip supper. I've already eaten and I'm really tired." And obviously, you meant it when you told me you didn't want to be disturbed by me. Why did I even bother to ask? "However, thanks for the invitation. Maybe tomorrow, huh?"

"That's alright. Have a good night. And remember: call Bongo if you need anything", I answer, even though I still believe she just wanted to be polite there. It shouldn't bother me. I did guarantee her that I would leave her to herself here, after all. So… it's only natural.

I watch Bongo leading her upstairs and only turn to my study after they disappeared into the first floor corridor. I suddenly doubt that it had been such a good idea to take her here again. She has already left her imprints in two of my favourite rooms when she had been here last time. But I couldn't seriously leave her there in that tiny little apartment all on her own. I'll always remember how she looked when she opened the door.

When I reach my study, other troubles await me. It seems like another informant of the Daily Prophet disappeared in Argentina. Things are really going downhill there in a frightening pace. I have to catch up on everything I've neglected while I had been trying to reach Lavinia. It's going to be a long night.


	38. Chapter 38

**Thirty-Eight**

_"Worry the nights away  
Worry all through the day  
I worry what's come over you  
Worry somehow you've changed  
Worry you seem so strange  
I worry what am I gonna do."_

_Bill Anderson, "Worry"_

_Orion:_

"By the way… it seems people think you're seeing me. Do something about it." I throw a severe look at Lucinda Carrow, who doesn't act surprised at all. We had a rather hard interview session today, about Argentina and the ways of Death Eaters again. Now, it's almost time for Carrow to go. But ever since Lavinia reproached me to be 'dating' Carrow, I was concerned.

"Whoever told you that?" she asks and shrugs.

I frown. "Look Carrow, I might not be chasing rumours like you do. But I'm not deaf. Even I hear things."

"Sure you do," she answers, and the smile on her face tells me that she's thinking of something terribly funny she obviously can't tell me. "What do you suggest I do about it?"

"I don't know," I shrug, a little unnerved already, "that's your job."

"So… you have talked to your Qudditch-girl again, then?" For a moment I don't know how to interpret this question. What has one thing to do with the other? As if I was going to tell her. And the worst part of it – Carrow suddenly sounds _very_ curious.

"I beg your pardon?" Has she just changed the subject or what? I only wanted her to do something about rumours that we're seeing each other. Where's the link to Lavinia? For Carrow, I mean...

"It's not that difficult a question, Yaxley, even you should understand it – I asked you whether you've talked to that Quidditch player of yours, you know, the one everyone wants to write about these days," after a pause, she adds a rather irritated, "and I'm not allowed to." She must be furious about it.

"None of your concern. And I don't see why you're asking me now…" unless… unless… no, she wouldn't… or rather, that's exactly the kind of thing Lucinda Carrow would do… "have _you_ talked to her?"

"Not lately." There's a smile on her face that could tell anything. Damn. Why? Why can't she just leave my personal life in peace and concentrate on others? "You know, you really should talk to her. I think you two could really have been something…"

"Shut up, Carrow!" I bellow, not too friendly and usher her to the door. "See you in two days. And don't bother coming here again unannounced."

"Yeah, because chances are, you're not here…" she murmurs. I eye her as she's leaving, trying to hide my surprise. Is she implying… no, she can't… oh, yes, she can… I shake my head after closing the door. This woman will be the death of me. But it's too late now. I'm pretty sure she talked to Lavinia at some point, and I even think she suspects that she's hiding in Norfolk now. Knowing Carrow… I always have to assume the worst. Let's pray she's not suddenly going to show up there.

It's close to midnight already, and I haven't edited any of the dreadful information on Death Eaters I've just got out of Carrow. And all the while, I can't stop thinking about this last part of our conversation. What could she have told Lavinia? She just… should leave her alone, like she promised. Would Lucinda try to interfere with… whatever we're _not_ having? Even now that Lavinia has told me that it's _over_ for her anyway? Oh, and why does Carrow think she can give me advice on that? Talk to her… honestly. As if I hadn't… and even if I hadn't…

I have other things to worry about, too, for Merlin's sake! My thoughts turn entirely back to Lavinia, when I arrive at the manor. The last three days she has been an almost ghostly presence in the house. I've watched her leave early in the morning, and heard her steps in the corridors in the evening. But she never wanted to join me for dinner or any other meal and we rarely spoke more than three words all that time. Still, the house feels different with her around, more alive than ever since my parents died.

"Master." I turn to find Bongo looking up at me. "The Kitchen elves are upset, Master," he tells me, and I can see worry in his eyes, "Mrs. McNeil is transfiguring her food. She's not eating, Master. Bongo is worried, too."

"What do you mean, not eating? Haven't I ordered them to prepare what she wants for her?" Bongo seems truly miserable.

"They do, Master. Bongo makes sure himself. But Mrs. McNeil is almost never eating any of it. Everything comes back. Or Bongo finds it transfigured in the room. Just so little is eaten." There's honest alarm in his voice. And I'm shocked. I… should I have paid more attention? It's true, I had been very busy trying to solve the Argentina crisis at work these last days, and with two members of my team already lost without trace there … but, she wanted to be alone, didn't she? I… maybe I should really talk to her again.

But, on the other hand… she had made it very clear that she didn't want to be disturbed by me. And that for her, we were over. And… even so, even despite all that… I don't want her to leave again.

Nonsense. I shouldn't think such stupid things.

"I'll take care of it, Bongo. Thank you for letting me know," I say to the elf, partly to make him disapparate and be on my own again.

_Lavinia:_

Quite frankly… I hate to admit it but… Orion's idea to invite me to Yaxley Manor wasn't that bad after all. I still don't feel much like socializing with _anyone_ but at least here it doesn't prevent me from getting some fresh air now and then.

Okay.

Okayokayokay, "now and then" is – when you put it nicely – a bit of an understatement. And if you are honest about it… it's a lie. In fact, all that wind and roaring sea and everything out here seem to be the only things loud and powerful enough to stop my stupid mind from coming back to that sodding accident. Dammit, it's been days since that thing I just… can't stop… being afraid of myself, deep in the back of my mind.

Almost growling, I shake my head at myself. It was an accident, it's over and I can't do anything about it… except trying to feel sorry for Chiverston. Not that I really want to from the depth of my heart… but at least I'd feel very much like a better person if I could. However… as long as I don't learn that I'm doomed to wander the nearly endless premises of Yaxley Manor. Or something.

Merlin, listen to me. I sound like an _idiot_. I should just… I should get back on a damned broom and do my godforsaken job instead of hiding out in the countryside and impose on Orion's… whatever made him ask me to come here. Except… except I can't. Get back on a broom, I mean. Getting back on a broom – in fact, getting only _close_ to a broom – is about the last thing in the world I want to do right now.

And even if I _wanted_ to… I _couldn't_. The thought alone of flying or even _chasing_… nearly makes me sick. I suspect it also has something to do with me not being particularly interested in food – I certainly hope none of all the beings inhabiting the house has noticed and told Orion about it – but I'm pretty good at not thinking about _that_ either since I try to keep myself busy with other stuff… reading, walking… and even doing some exploring of the house.

Alright, yeah, that just shows how desperate I am. But at least it showed me that I'm not the only one with issues in that house. The only one _alive_ I mean, since all the _dead_ inhabitants seem to consist _wholly_ of issues. Anyway… already on the day after I arrived I noticed something strange about Orion. Okay, something strange that was _new_ about him since we all know that Mr Orion Yaxley gives "strange" a totally new meaning.

Anyway… I tiptoed around the house a little, looking into this room and that… when I accidentally came about the room that seems to be his study. However, Mr Workaholic wasn't working at all… in fact, he was _sleeping_, slumped on the desk, in the broad daylight… I thought it must have been a long night then and decided to leave him alone because the last thing I want to be is a nuisance to him.

It's a _bit_ disconcerting, though, that I found him like that another four times in the last few days, in various rooms all over the house when I stumbled over them on one of those little trips through the house. On the one hand… it was certainly better than stumbling over dearest Aunt _Carina_ but on the other hand… something like… _worry_ is starting to form and that's… giving me all kinds of strange feelings. There has to be a _reason_ for that and something in me wants to _find_ that reason and make it go away so he could go back to his usual "I can work whole nights and still be wide awake the next day"-routine.

I really, really hope this something in me is just my desperate wish to find something other to occupy my thoughts than certain accidents and certain accident victims and a certain thing called "career" rather than… something else. I really have had enough complications – both professionally and um… emotionally – in the last few months and I don't need any more. I'm done with complications, dammit.

* * *

**A/N:** And yes, we're back! However, **Aspiraine** was right, we're taking it a little slow right now. But don't worry, we know where we're going with this and the story will pick up a little more speed in later chapters. **Adecge** has a point with Lavinia... but remember, she'd been closing herself off for several days already... Guess she's just glad she can at least pretend to being back to herself again ;) As for Argentina... let yourself be surprised ;) Anyway, we hope, you like this chapter even if it's rather contemplative, most of all on Lavinia's part.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N:** Why yes, we're still working on this story ;) And yes, we also know these two spend a _lot _of time dancing around each other. But we're glad that there are still people reading this story and most of all enjoy **Adecge**'s reviews (**rareb** especially likes you liking Lucy so much ;)). Lucy indeed was meant to be more of a background character but I for my part do like her as someone pushing the plot forward and managing to drawing Orion out like no one else. She'll certainly be around for a little while longer. And now on to the story.

* * *

**Thirty-Nine**

"_Ich will keinen Zentimeter mehr zwischen uns  
Ein Fleck ohne Kontur  
Ich will ein' Anfang mit mehr Tiefe, mit mehr Hintergrund  
Ein Ende ohne Zensur"_

_Clueso, "Keinen Zentimeter"_

_Lavinia:_

So… go on, McNeil, knock on that door, enter that room and just ask Orion why you see him take a nap at various times of day in various rooms of the house. It's not like you wouldn't have asked him about that if you'd still be living with him in _your_ flat. If the flat had more than three rooms, that is.

Come on, knock. There's really nothing strange about it. Okay, so you told him you two are "over" but that was stupid anyway because something that never was can't be over, either. You're just worried because he's your friend and behaves weird – weirder than usual, that is – and it's okay to be concerned about friends behaving weird.

I take a deep breath. Right. Concerned about a friend. I knock. At first… there's nothing. Okay, so he probably isn't in the… "Enter!" Oh… oh, he's there alright. Go on, then. Go on and just ask him if everything is okay, McNeil.

Taking another breath – not as deep as the other one – I enter his study. He's sitting at his desk – no big surprise _there_ – with the light filtering in through a big window from behind him. The light is the reason I don't see it at first but when my eyes have gotten accustomed to it, I can see that his hair is slightly dishevelled, his shirt is a little rumbled and there's a nice shade of five-o-clock shadow on his face.

Wait, did I just think _nice_? I mean… pitiful. Yeah, that's it. Because he looks very much like he'd slept at his desk… _again_. Granted, that look does suit him and everything… but it also doesn't do anything to soothe my concern. In fact, it just adds to it, as much as his desk in itself does.

I remember from taking a peek through his door now and then that Orion is one of these clean desk freaks who seem to be unable to work if there's so much as a paper clip lying around where it isn't supposed to be. It's a concept totally alien to _me_ but it had seemed to suit Orion just fine. Now though… I'm _almost_ shocked to see some parchments strewn over it a little carelessly, his quill lying around almost as if forgotten, a few editions of the Prophet to complete the slight state of disarray – and here I mean "slight" by _my_ standards, since for _Orion's_ standards it looks like someone aimed an explosion spell at his desk.

Orion himself… only looks up for a moment, purses his lips as if he wants to say something… and then busies himself with trying to look like he's working and basically ignoring me. I feel a flicker of genuine irritation flare up at this act of impoliteness and then a flicker of confusion and distress because just for a moment I'm afraid I might have done something to upset him but then I remember that I asked him not to get on my nerves and that this is probably just his interpretation of this.

Alright, so… what to do now? It _could_ be really easy but… I feel myself choke up. Maybe… maybe for one I should stop standing around pointlessly so I walk over to the small couch standing on the wall opposite to his desk and sit down.

Now what, McNeil? It's not like you to fumble around for words when you want to tell someone they basically look like hell and ask them what's making them look like that. It's just that… with Orion… it's different. In the short time that we were really nothing else than flat mates and friends, I would have had no qualms about approaching him directly but now everything's changed – first there was Boreas and then there was the accident and there's also damn Lucy Carrow, even if he denies having anything going on with her.

I just _know_ there's more to it because he reacted strangely when I mentioned her and that… _irks_ me. And it also irks me that it irks me. It's solely his decision who he chooses to date or have an affair with or have hot office sex with and I have no right to poke my nose into it. Even if it's a hyena like Carrow and even if it would be a shame if _that_ kind of woman would be his type… because it's a shame that that kind of woman could be _anyone's_ type.

He looks up again and I realize I've been staring at him while I was trying to tell myself I'm not jealous of Carrow for getting his attention. Embarrassed, I look away and pretend to be interested in anything but him. Damn, I really need to say my piece rather sooner than later or he'll think me totally retarded. Well, if he doesn't think of me like that anyway, after all the hassle with having to drag me out of my place to come here, that is.

But maybe… I should try to calm down a bit before prying into his clearly personal struggles. Wouldn't do much good if I'd be my usual blundering self. And for the time being he seems resigned to see me as just another addition to his office furniture, anyway. So I lean back, draw up my legs and put my chin on the arm that's lying on the arm rest.

For a while, all I do is sit there and pretend I'm not watching him and all _he_ does is writing and reading and doing even more writing and reading… interrupted by looking up now and then. Looking up at _me_ that is, once or twice making the impression that he's about to say something.

However, since nothing ever comes, I feel the sleepless nights starting to get their revenge and my eyelids starting to droop more and more frequently. For some reason… half-lying on that couch, in the spring sunlight filtering in from outside, watching Orion steadily and quietly work off his workload… seems to have a soothing effect on me and after a while… I feel myself drifting off.

_Orion:_

"It is rumoured that the Mortifágos have been founded by fugitive members of the British Death Eaters after the first downfall of Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." I've just read this sentence for the fifth time and I still haven't really paid attention. Of course I've known about this rumour for a long time. That's not even the reason why I'm looking through this book again. I'm trying to find out... what exactly?

I run my hand through my hair and shake my head. A habit I seem to have taken up since my haircut has grown out a bit... I really should get a new one soon.

Who am I kidding anyway. I sigh inwardly. I haven't been able to concentrate on my task since Lavinia entered this room, I don't know how long ago. Time has just become unfathomable. Maybe I could risk another glance in her direction? Or is it too early? I'm not even sure _why _she came here. She hasn't spoken to me – it rather looked like she wanted to watch me do my work. No. I can't think something like that, I tell myself. Stupid me. She told me it was over, didn't she? Clearly.

Maybe... the weather is too unbearable to go outside? I quickly turn my head to the window behind me to verify – glad to be able to turn my head in any direction without feeling utterly stupid. It's a sunny day. That's not helping.

When she came in, I could see that Bongo wasn't lying – she looked rather... no, not visibly thinner than last time I saw her, but... not really her dynamic and athletic self anymore. To be honest, she looked almost fragile. I really should talk to her about this whole not-eating-thing. It feels like something's eating _her_ up from the inside. I was close to tell her when she entered – but I was afraid that she would leave should I talk to her. How could I forget that awful discussion we had in front of her apartment when I invited her here?

I let my glance wander in her direction, carefully controlling myself not to alert her; or, rather... not to give myself away. It's too early to try anything; if I wanted to try anything... which I don't. Really, whatever Carrow thinks. Why should I listen to_ her_ of all people anyway?

When I finally look at Lavinia, I jump up and almost cry out in alarm. She's not moving. Her skin looks even paler than usual. Just before I run to her, I look again and exhale in relief. She's not dead or passed out... on the contrary, she's breathing regularly, like someone sleeping soundly.

Yes, I assure myself while I'm watching her, definitely sleeping, cuddled on this old, worn out sofa I nearly threw out of this room countless times. I won't be able to do that now. This is pathetic. It's still the same sofa and I shouldn't get more attached to Lavinia. It's unhealthy. I have no clue why I can't just accept that it's over for her. On the other hand, hasn't she accepted my invitation?

I know that other people, Carrow for instance, would never just sit here and wait. They would have done something. Should I have ignored Lavinia's request and just talked to her? Should I have forced her to spend time with me against her will? It seemed like she meant it when she asked me not to bother her. I'm only respecting her wish. Can that be so wrong?

Why am I thinking all these things, anyway? My life used to be calm and in order, after the turbulences of the war at least. It hadn't been bad at all. I sigh. The disadvantage of ordinary, uneventful periods is that they never last.

Lavinia is still sleeping. If she were another person, I would have told Bongo to levitate her to her room. But it has something calming, knowing that she's close by.

On an impulse I get up and approach her. I should probably wake her and give her the chance to decide for herself. Instead, I sit down beside her. Isn't it impolite to watch someone sleep like this? Some unruly strands of her hair are all over her face. She must have turned around at some point in her sleep. I have to resist the urge to brush these strands out of her face – now, _that_ would be out of line.

It reminds me of that strange Christmas night we had talked for so long she fell asleep in my lap. I had been forced to watch her sleep, then, too, as I didn't want to wake her. She looked more peaceful then. For the first time since we had met again, I had the feeling that she was ready to let her dead husband go. Well, and what good did it do to me? And to her, of course.

No wonder she seems so exhausted. First, this horrible story with that Russian terrorist – which I still think is partly my fault, as I could have prevented it, had I been more active. Then, this mysterious accident, which must have disturbed her even more. I've tried to figure out what could be her problem, but to no avail. It's this other player, who's gravely injured, not her. Okay, so it was one of her team mates, but it was an accident, wasn't it? Accidents happen. And as far as I remember, this Chiverston-gal has never exactly been her favourite person in the world, either. So, why is she so upset she even stopped eating?

The longer you watch a person, the stranger she seems to get to you. Suddenly, you feel like you don't know her anymore, at all. This different, other being, so close to you... I'm thinking nonsense. It feels like I'm an intruder into her most intimate sphere and I shudder. Either I go back to work or I wake her. Taking a deep breath, I softly put my hand against her arm and shake her slightly. "Lavinia," I say, "wake up!"

"_I don't want a single centimetre between us anymore_

_A blot without contour_

_I want a beginning with more depth, with more background_

_An end without hush up."_


	40. Chapter 40

**Forty**

"_And I use to talk  
With honest conviction  
Of how I predicted my world  
I'm going to leave it to star gazers  
To tell me what your telescope says."_

_KT Tunstall, "Through The Dark"_

_Lavinia:_

"Lavinia, wake up!"

I grumble. Naaah. Don't wanna. There's something on my arm and I shrug off the nuisance half-heartedly.

Unfortunately, that doesn't solve the issue since I hear another "Lavinia, wake up!" Why the hell ever should I? "You fell asleep on my sofa." Yeah, so? It's not like… wait. I'm not at _my_ home. I'm at Orion's home and this is his sofa and… crap. With a start I sit up and there he's sitting beside me, looking a little… relieved. Huh.

Still… this is pretty embarrassing. After all, it's his study and I don't even want to know what he's thinking of me right now, after coming to his office, not saying a _word_ and then _falling bloody asleep_. And yeah, I should probably say something. "I… sorry for bothering you. I think I'll just… you know…" Yeah, really eloquent, Mrs McNeil. You're really lucky you don't have to _talk_ for a living, just ride a broom.

I'd intended to get up and leave but he throws me a look that's more confused than irritated and says, "You weren't bothering me at all, Lavinia." I'm… not? "On the contrary. I'm sorry I had to wake you. I assumed you'd prefer a bed to sleep in... even though it's a reasonably comfortable sofa, of course. I use to sleep there myself, on occasion." What the…

Before I know it, the words "Yeah, I noticed _that_ on more than one occasion," are out of my mouth. Here we go again, old Mrs Blabbermouth. But then again… talking about this is what you came, isn't it?

At that, he looks a little startled and even more confused. "Did you really? I haven't slept here in weeks!"

That's a joke, right? I look at him disbelievingly. "Sure you did. Just saw you napping here yesterday." Oh, way to go, McNeil. Now he'll get off on you for snooping around the house and entering rooms that are his private sanctuary. Maybe someone should just gift you with a muting spell. For life.

But all he does is look at me indignantly and say with utmost conviction, "No, I didn't." As he sees my still disbelieving look, he adds as an afterthought, "Why should I do something like that?"

At that I just can't help snorting and giving him another funny look. "Yes, you did. Yesterday, at about four in the evening. As for _why_ you did that…" I shrug. "No idea. Probably… because you were tired? That's usually the main reason for people falling asleep."

"Ridiculous! I'm not tired." Ah, and here we finally go with the being pissed off part. However, it's not exactly the _reason_ I expected him to be pissed off for. And hey, ridiculous is only one thing here: How he tries to deny something _everyone_ can see. I mean, with him suddenly being so close to me again and the light now in his face it's even more apparent that something has taken its toll on him. There are shadows under his eyes and a certain kind of haggardness to his face that haven't been there ever before. For some reason… his whole appearance starts to tug at my heartstrings and I catch myself at wanting to run a hand through his hair, drag him to his bedroom and make sure he doesn't get up again until he has slept at least ten hours straight.

"Orion…" But Mr Yaxley obviously isn't finished yet.

"Why are you so interested in what I do?" Because you're my _friend_, you idiot? Or used to be. Whatever. That's not the point anyway. The point is that I care about you and… "It's yourself you should worry about, not me. Don't think I don't know that you haven't been eating for days!"

He… what? How? And no way we're gonna talk about _that_ now. "Hey, why are we suddenly talking about _me_? Don't try to divert my attention, mister…"

"I'm not diverting your attention." Hey, that's the second time you interrupted me in this conversation! Manners, Yaxley, _manners_. "All I do is trying to point it in the right direction"

The right direction? "Yeah, away from yourself." He opens his mouth again but I've had it now. I haven't seen him like he looks now ever before and I want him to _stop_ doing whatever makes him look like that. "Orion, when was the last day off you didn't use to work?" Ha, that's right, McNeil. Get him something to think. And to keep him away from this pesky food thing.

He huffs. "That's not the point." He wants to continue but like hell I'm gonna let him justify this crap with anything.

"Yes, it bloody _is_. Dammit, when I told you not to work yourself to death, I meant that. I just didn't know that you were really trying to do that." Oops. Did I get too far with that? But… that doesn't make it any less true. He really looks like hell and it's pretty obvious that it didn't only start a few days ago. He must have been at it for a few weeks already and in the back of my mind I wonder… would that have happened if I wouldn't have practically thrown him out?

Orion, though, is on a roll now. "Wait, are you telling me you're really worried about _me_ when…" At that he interrupts himself and I'm about to ask 'When _what_?' but he catches himself and mutters almost as if to himself, "whatever." Before I can ask what the hell he is bloody talking about, he adds, "I've got it under control. There's no need..."

Dammit, how stubborn can one guy be? And does he really think I'm stupid or blind enough not to see that he has _nothing_ under control? "There is _every_ need. Dammit, Yaxley, you look like a horde of harpies just had a go at you. Or like you practically lived in that shirt for at least two weeks." No… no, that's not getting me anywhere. I've got another idea, though. Folding my arms in front of my chest, I say rather bitingly ironic, "Or is it _Carrow_ that gives you all these sleepless nights?"

The moment I say it… I realize that this has been lurking in my head for quite a while now and it has been actually _gnawing_ at me. Oh God, what if she _is_? I mean, not like I have any right to be jealous… and I'm no… who am I kidding? I _am_, as illogical and unreasonable that is. Crap.

Argh, I shouldn't have mentioned her for a few other reasons than reminding myself of this gnawing bloody jealousy as well. At hearing her name, Orion looks like a giant cloud is forming above his head. Oh damn, he didn't like the tone I used and now he'll go on and defend her and… lean towards me? What the… "Don't you realise…" Suddenly… his lips are on mine and I feel awfully much reminded of that kiss in the broom closet so long ago - only that he's older now and he really improved his kissing technique and he smells quite nice as well and he… and he just jumped up and left the room without a word. What. The. _Hell_?

_Orion:_

The brilliant green of the hill is blurring in front of my eyes. I've just left the house in such a hurry, I've only now come to realise that I've automatically started to follow my old path to the seaside. What an idiot. What a stupid idiot I am. I can't stop running. All I want is to be as far away from it as possible. What did I do? Why? Idiot.

I reach the embankment and come to a halt to catch some breath. As soon as I stop running, thoughts start spinning in my head. Who am I to invite her here, just to take advantage of her situation? Well, not that I really took advantage of her compared to the standard of people like... Carrow. Why did she have to mention her? Doesn't she see? That was just it. Lavinia is confused and traumatised by I don't know what happened at this accident, and I have nothing better to do than...

I start walking again, this time descending to the seaside. My little house there had always been my last resort and when have I needed it more than now? "Admit it," I say aloud, under the roaring sound of the waves breaking on the beach, "admit it. That was the reason you invited her here." Talking to myself. Stupid. And all my fault.

I shouldn't have woken her up. I should just have let her sleep in peace and continued working. But no, I had to interfere. And now, she'd want to leave the house, go back to that small little flat of hers, all on her own, until she's so pale from the lack of food, light and fresh air she'd be mistaken for a ghost. Just because I couldn't... and the worst of it: I deserve it.

Only when I reach the small house on the beach I realise that I'm shivering. No wonder, I haven't got a jacket on or anything warm for that matter. Nothing but a lousy shirt, one that apparently looks like I've been wearing it for weeks. As if it mattered now. I sigh.

Even though I'm trembling, I don't really feel the cold. I'm standing in front of the house, looking over the sea. I start to hope that Lavinia leaves the house while I'm away, to spare me the embarrassment. I won't be able to look at her again, for sure. And not just, because I'm ashamed of that stupid loss of control. No, actually, I can't bear the thought of looking at her, seeing her, knowing that I've just blown my last chance.

It's stupid but I can't imagine my life without her in it somewhere.

No, scratch that.

I _can_ imagine it only too well and it doesn't look that appealing to me anymore. Of course, there's always work and there's always my career to follow. I've been through other hard times before. But somehow, her words – those before that stupid kiss – don't stop nagging me, either.

Do I look that awful? Does she think I'm ill or something?

Now, for instance, I really should get into the cabin or I'll catch a serious cold, to make things worse. Luckily, I keep some warm blankets out here for occasions just like this.

The air inside seems damp and warm compared to the cold breeze outside. I sit down in one of the chairs and continue staring into the blueish grey blur of the sea in front of me. Slowly, I start to calm down a bit. I will survive, I always do. But it would have helped if that kiss hadn't felt so damn right. Almost like last time in that fateful broom closet at school... I've never asked her why she had run out on me, there.

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**A/N:** Yes, it's another chapter... with _finally_ some plot development. How'd you like it ;)? We would also like to thank **Silver Sailor Ganymede** for reading the whole story and giving us such nice reviews throughout (personally, we liked it that you suspected something was wrong with Boreas all along ;)) and **Adecge** for staying with us so faithfully. You're great, guys!


	41. Chapter 41

**Forty One**

"_Mr Sandman, someone to hold (someone to hold)  
Would be so peachy before we're too old  
So please turn on your magic beam  
Mr Sandman, bring us, please, please, please  
Mr Sandman, bring us a dream."_

_Chordettes, "Mr. Sandman"_

_Orion:_

"So, are you done with hiding from me..." I almost jump, when I hear Lavinia's voice behind me. "Or should I leave and come back in a few days?" She sounds slightly amused – but surprisingly not hostile at all. That's... not what I expected her to say, should she find me here.

I don't know how long I've been sitting here already, but for the entire time I've imagined progressively worse scenarios about this exact situation, and none of them included this strange question. I'm torn between wanting to turn around and see the expression on her face, or see her, period and continue staring out of the window, ignoring the situation. I don't know which part of me decided to simply reply to her question.

"I'm not asking you to leave." To my own surprise, these words don't sound as agitated as I actually feel, but rather calm and emotionless. It's amazing how a professional deformation can sometimes protect you. "I shouldn't have taken advantage of the situation. It's my fault."

Lavinia continues reacting like I haven't expected her to. Rather than starting to argue with me or leaving the room, she only sighs audibly and sits down beside me. I don't have to look in her direction to feel exactly where she's sitting now, and it's unbearable. Is this how someone who's over with you acts after you kissed her? The silence is getting awkward, and I remember how I always hated these kinds of situations. I have to suppress a sigh, too.

"How did you find me?" I manage to say, still unable to look at her. She chooses to ignore that question, too.

Instead, I suddenly hear her say, "Not bad. But then I didn't kiss _that_ many guys to have much to compare."

This makes my head turn alright. With a mixture of disbelief, consternation and sudden relief, I look at her. She tries to keep her face straight, but fails miserably. I can't help but smile at her. I have no idea what this means, but it can't be that bad a sign, can it?

"Not bad? Mrs. McNeil, I'm shocked," I reply, trying to keep a stern expression on my face, but failing at it, too. I bet I was at least better than that Death Eater.

"Contrary to public opinion – and your own, I assume – you are _not_ God's gift to womankind, Orion Yaxley," she tells me in a slightly patronising, sarcastic tone. Haven't I heard that before? I raise an eyebrow and move a little closer to her.

"Really?"

"Really," she says and throws me a demonstratively disparaging look. "Most of all, when you're looking like you're looking now."

"Well, in that case," I back off equally demonstratively, "why bother coming here?"

"Well, there's... that big pond of water they call the sea and they also say that the air here is supposed to be healthy so... I thought I'd try that for a change," she explains. I shake my head and grin a little lopsided.

"So, you're saying, it hasn't had anything to do with me, at all?" I raise my eyebrows. "You could have simply ignored me."

_Lavinia:_

Well, yes, there's that. I could have. And maybe I _should_ have, considering that it was _him_ who stormed out after kissing me. And a part of me still wants to get back at him for that. Really, a well-mannered young man doesn't start kissing a young lady and then runs out for no apparent reason – well, no apparent reason other than there was no lady present and that the kiss came out of nowhere and… ah, hell. He asked me something and I owe him an answer. "True. However… I'd like to remind you that we still have an unfinished conversation."

The only thing he says is, "Do we?" as if he already forgot about it but by now I think I know him well enough to be sure that he knows _exactly_ what I mean. Oh well, at least he didn't deny it outright. That has to count for something, hasn't it?

I look at him and again I see the lines in his face that shouldn't be there and the urge to reach out and soothe these tousled strands of hair grows. Taking a deep breath, I say, "Yes, we do. Orion… I meant what I said. What… what are you doing to yourself?"

He turns toward me and gives me a look that promises… nothing. Good. Oh, McNeil, what have you done now? "I'm not doing anything to myself. But if you want to know, consider this: My parents are dead." Now he raises his hand and starts enumerating, even getting kind of erratic. "I married the woman I was most apt to disappoint – and I can't even say it was undeserved that she cheated on me, given the circumstances. My friends stopped talking to me the minute my plans for divorce became known – and you made it quite clear that you don't want to have me in your life any longer." Wait… _that_ gets to him? So much that he… "So, what's left? Go figure. Work really is the only thing I'm good at and the only place I'm still needed. Why not devote my entire life to it? And I can't say that there hadn't been anything for me to work on these last months."

This whole rant – and it _is_ a rant – has me speechless for a few minutes. I have to… digest that. And I start feeling guilty. We were _friends_, dammit… and I left him hanging, only because he didn't like my boyfriend and with bloody good reason at that. Before I know it, my hand is lying on his and lightly squeezing it. "I'm… I'm sorry for saying that, Orion."

To my surprise, he simply… holds on to my hand, instead of withdrawing his or even giving it a strange look. Instead he simply asks, "Saying what?"

Dammit, Orion, do you really have to make it so hard for me? But yeah, I probably deserve it. So, McNeil, be honest now. "That I don't want you in my life. It was… uncalled for and unfair and I… it was just wrong."

At that… his face brightens up and… he even smiles a little. Oh…. Oh, that's nice. It makes the lines disappear a little and that does give me a funny feeling deep down. He's silent for a while and he doesn't let go of my hand. After a while he asks, "You're not mad at me?"

I can't help rolling my eyes at that and impulsively saying, "No, I'm not, you idiot." Seeing as he gives his best not to react to the quasi insult – oh look, someone learned to take things with a grain of salt – I feel confident enough to add, "Now… how about I drag you to your bedroom and you get some much needed rest?"

Wait.

Did I just really say that?

Merlin, McNeil, if you could shut your mouth just for _once_. Orion does look a little… surprised at that and raises his eyebrows. "Do you think I'll get rest if _you_ drag me to my bedroom?"

What the…? The bloody _bastard_. He just… he just managed to make me blush and decisively I take my hand back. There, that's what you get for insinuating… _things_. "Oh fine, then go alone. But go you will."

Smug grin now. "Fine. If you eat something first." Argh. Should have expected that. But… not today. I'm just… I don't want to talk about it. And anyway, thanks to him I now have about a thousand _other_ things to try and wrap my mind around.

"We can talk about _that_ after you slept. For at least ten hours. Straight. Now up with you." Come on, Orion. Just for once do what I told you. I get up and walk over to the door, hoping he'll just comply.

"I'll do it. If you eat first." Yeah, right. How long do you want to play this came, huh? With this line in mind, I turn around to answer him and find him… asleep. In his chair. Just like that. Oh Orion, what am I gonna do with you, huh? Sighing, I contemplate waking him up… and decide to do it. For some reason, I don't want to leave him here.

I walk back to him and resist the temptation to muss his hair a little or give him a kiss on his fore… wait. Where did that come from? Anyway… I squeeze his shoulder lightly. With a start, he wakes up and I fold my arms in front of my chest, partly to tell myself where exactly my place is here. When he has realized that I'm still here, I give him, "You did it again."

Still a little dazed he blinks and says, "Did what?"

I can't help rolling my eyes. "Falling asleep in broad daylight. Come on, it's really time for you to go to bed." I half expect him to give me some ironic reply but in the end all he does is shaking his head sceptically and getting up to move towards the door. What the… Did I just convince _Orion_ to do something? Huh, he must be more tired than he let on. Oh well then… off to tuck him in. Or something.

* * *

**A/N: **Yay, we're back with a new chapter! Poor Orion, huh? He finally gets to kiss the girl he wants... and then he messes it up and she finds it bloody _funny_ ;) And of course thanks to **Silver Sailor Ganymede** for the review on Chapter 40. We do hope that at least some of you still follow us :S


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